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Post by Hawk on Mar 26, 2010 20:37:34 GMT -6
Right, well, my music prompts were eating the general music prompt section. And they seem to be mainly what I write, so it didn't really seem fair to keep spamming the general one with all of my character unloading.
Soooo, I'm just going to put all my prompts here in their own little thread! It's mainly just snippets about my characters, so if that doesn't interest you, feel free to ignore it as you please~
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Post by Hawk on Mar 26, 2010 20:49:21 GMT -6
[[Right, well, I was in the mood to write. And love music. So, yeah, music prompts called out to meh. I decided to not work within the constraints of the song length, because I'm mentally incapable. Just kinda got down the bones during the first listen-through, and then listened to it on repeat as I worked out the details. A lot are only vaguely related to the songs too, because they were pretty much just a launch point. They're still a bit rough and I could prolly edit them more, but I have a ton of homework that these kinda pushed off until now, so I gotta get them off my desktop. >.>;;
Uh, they're really long so feel free to not read them. Kinda like that last paragraph. And I guess a couple of them are kind of adult. Especially the fourth. AND I HATE ENDINGS. /pointlessly long AN]]
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Song: Falling Down Artist: Muse
It was like he was flying.
That was what Lelouch thought as he fell through the air. He’d let his vision go dark as he felt the blade leaving him, and had let go of Suzaku, of Nunnally, of everyone and everything long ago. He had let go of the world, abandoned it for the sake of saving it. Now, he was left with nothing but the sensation of downward movement. And how releasing it was.
The wound, maybe the loss of blood, had created such a pleasant numbing feeling, one that set in so quickly. He’d fallen in the snow so many years back, the one time he had seen it in his short life. Every limb had tingled and then lost sensation. But, this was so much more than that. This numbness sank into his bones and continued on deeper, filtering through his entire being.
It was how he imagined it would be if he became one with the snow itself. The snow while it was falling, maybe. One flake, taking in its last enjoyment before hitting the ground and disappearing away.
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Song: Annie Artist: Low vs. Diamond
You could tell so much about a person when they were in your arms. Or, in this case, when they were laying over one of your arms. Every small sound, every breath, the little twitch or set of a muscle, they all sent a message in their own way, if someone was to just pay attention. The woman, Annie, had matching intervals between exhales, for example. They’d settled into some semblance of calm at least an hour ago, and that even separation between breaths told Belial she had finally drifted off, face hidden in her crossed arms.
He’d met her at the club early on in the night, felt her from across the room through not feeling her. Everyone had lusts, for things or people, but she was this little blank slate, looking around nervously as she sipped at some unidentifiable cocktail in a plastic Dixie cup. He’d headed straight for her table. Had slid right into the chair next to her and introduced himself.
Starting with the trading off of favorite songs to dance to and a tease at the man’s hair color, he eventually got her to move on to her nine-to-five work in a salon right in the middle of downtown, and the classes she was taking to complete her degree so she could manage her own place someday. It was somewhere in the midst of that that she had trailed off, hesitantly shifting closer and tracing a hand along his chest, following by leaning up to catch his lips with hers.
At about that point he’d finally felt the lid she’d placed so tightly on her yearning start to slip. She hadn’t been self-destructive in her wanting, but there was a desperate pull to it that made him raise a hand to her side and pull her closer. Lust was only a small part of a person, and not one that made their problems transparent. It only let him discern that she was lonely, and she had been hurt. Couldn’t tell by what or how much or why. But the grip on his shirt that had been tighter than it ever had to be, the stutter in her intake of air that seemed caught somewhere between relief and panic as she pulled back, they were enough when combined with the tight hold she had on her feelings to piece it together.
And, sitting here as he was now with her asleep next to him, he could feel it even more, that edge of desperation to have someone to hold on to, someone to heal and make her forget. His presence had softened the edge for now, had pulled open the lid, but he could only help with that first step. Had told her as much, that this couldn't go on past tonight, earlier that evening. He’d failed whenever he’d tried to mend any further in the past.
Allowing himself a small sigh, he turned on to his side and draped his other arm over the woman’s slumbering form, careful not to wake her. Brushing a hand down her side before letting it come to a rest, he let his lips form into a small, soft grin. “No more closing off, okay? Being able to share your heart’s a treasure, so cherish it.” He knew she couldn’t hear the words, so quiet they almost weren’t there. He hoped they would sink in anyway, just like his actions had.
But as he let his eyes close so that he could at least fake at some sleep himself, his grin took on only the smallest hint of sadness. A treasure, indeed. If only he had been given the same gift from life…
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Song: Dead and Gone Artist: T.I. featuring Justin Timberlake
Being the one to reorganize the world by fighting came at a price, Setsuna thought as he looked up at his beloved partner. 00 had taken heavy hits this time around, an entire arm completely absent from the frame and multiple lacerations digging into the metal around the cockpit. They would be gone by morning if Ian went without sleep. Being ready was a necessity if Ptolemy was to be ready to sortie with the next wave of Federation forces. Much as Sumeragi said that Tieria, Lockon, and Allelujah could handle the defenses on their own, there was no question that 00’s twin drive system was what had gotten them this far in one piece. The two of them, Setsuna and the 00, were needed if the attempt to win out over this corrupt world was ever to succeed.
But as he looked out at the beautiful work of metal and engineering, his closest friend, he couldn’t keep Marina Ismail’s words from filtering through his mind. “Understanding each other starts from knowing each other. For the time being, why don’t we try to do that?” Was understanding truly impossible to reach if he fought? Did fighting really create nothing but more violence? And, on the flip side, could peace be reached without first usurping the corrupt forces controlling the world? ‘Let’s go back together’ said her song, so simple and yet so complex. It made the questions continue to pile up. Could they ever really all join as one without first struggling to get there? Could he ever release himself from the endless battles, one after the next?
”You’re forcing yourself to fight…”
Bringing a hand to the glass, he touched it with the tips of his fingers, eyes straying to the Cherudim Gundam sitting peacefully in its place in the hangar. Much as it had changed, it still reminded him of the Dynames of four years ago. “Setsuna, you have to change, to make up for me who didn’t change.” That was what Lockon Stratos, what Neil Dylandy, had said to him. But how did one change themselves while also trying to remain strong in their resolve to change the world?
Buried deep within his musings, he watched the technician Haros lift the new arm into place and begin to weld it in with mechanical precision. Suddenly it occurred to him that the Gundams themselves provided the perfect answer. Not only did were they repaired, but also improved. 00 had adjusted to moving into Trans-Am, gained the Twin Drive, combined with the Raiser. How had Setsuna improved to match his partner? What had he done to evolve, to meet his resolve to become that which he had admired since that hellish day so long ago in Kurdish Republic, when he had looked up at his savior, the mobile suit, with awe?
“…I am Gundam.” As the words fell from his lips, he closed his hand into a fist. Aeolia Schenberg’s hope had been to pull the world in a new direction. He had created these suits in hopes of completing that mission, and Setsuna would not disappoint. He would become what Gundams represented, and would transcend his former self by replacing the unneeded parts within him in favor of those that would bring the world the widespread understanding that Marina, that everyone wished for.
Sliding a hand along 00’s image once more, he turned away from the glass. He would no longer chase after the Gundams. Instead, he would grow to become his own force of change. That thought in mind, he touched the panel to slide the door open, and exited the viewing room.
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Song: Desperate Artist: David Archuleta
He didn’t feel anything.
Hands were sliding down his sides, riding up the back of his shirt and pulling it upwards. He was helping them along as lips forced against his almost violently. Teeth were gnashing against each other too, and his tongue was swollen and almost too big for his mouth, but tolerable since it was sharing space with the other person’s mouth. There was a hand in his hair that was closing tighter and tighter, person it was attached to too aroused to realize that his grip was reaching a point that would start pulling out strands soon if he moved wrong. A body was flush against his, backstepping him towards the bed, almost pushing him as he let it happen.
And he felt no different than he did when mixing a gin and tonic at the club. The action was automatic, mindless, and just made him feel numb. Passion was what people said drove sex if they were trying to sound all lyrical and pretty. Pheia knew otherwise. It was just going through the motions for him, another fuck just like any other, the same old pointless act.
So he pushed back, bit down on the lip forced between his, probably eliciting some gasp that others would call arousing, but that he couldn’t really give a damn about. He just wanted…something. Something more, something he couldn’t even identify, something that terrified him and yet kept him pushing forward through this hell everyone else called life. He was desperate for it, while simultaneously knowing he’d never find it. He threw himself at person after person, hopeful that something would change. Even more hopeful that someday he would push himself too far, would finally crack and give up, let his life go.
But, until that time came, he would just continue riding through the numbness, bide his time and wait. Wait for something to come along and break through the blankness and, just maybe, make him feel again.
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Song: Until the Day I Die Artist: Story of the Year
Conversation with Suzaku had become a game at some point. Lelouch wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, or maybe it had started from the minute they’d locked eyes, and he’d felt inclined to tug on his collar. But, no matter its outset, he couldn’t deny that every move had grown to levels of ridiculous complexity within the space of weeks.
It had so many rules that he couldn’t keep track of them, ended up fumbling one in place of meeting another. Don’t reveal too much of an opinion about Britannia, but still match some of the anger of his childhood. Fish for the boy’s opinions, but don’t dig. Play the caring friend, but don’t fall into the temptation to be so caring that it pulls him too close. The list went on and on.
It drove him crazy, took more work than the plans that were slowly tearing the greatest nation in the world apart. It was a chess game with no foreseeable end, and the opponent he was playing against was his own secrets, his own feelings. How could one win against those, or even hope of succeeding?
And yet, he continued to play, even as he spiraled closer and closer to failure. Couldn’t quell the hope that maybe somewhere in losing, he would find something that made it worthwhile.
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Song: Amelia Artist: Matthew Perryman Jones
Love was a great and terrible thing. Mostly great, Laeli thought as he looked down at Kirin. He’d finally fallen asleep, a small miracle considering his aversion to it. Reaching over, Lae pulled his glasses carefully off his face and stretched over him to set them on the nightstand. He never did get enough sleep. Lae was old enough by far to know and accept that Kir was adult enough to take care of himself, but that didn’t keep him from worrying.
That was one of the few terribles, the worrying. About the little things, and about the greater things. About every tear, every wound, every loss, everything. Lae had traveled through life in a laid back way for years upon years, and it had never occurred to him how much came with actively giving yourself to another person.
But, there was never a doubt that it was worth it. He wouldn’t trade the Kadabra for anything in this world, or any other. And would be furious if someone tried to make him. Kir was his, and he wouldn’t hear a word to the contrary. That was why he had given him the ring. Knowing Kir’s hand was under the blanket of the bed didn’t stop Lae from shifting his gaze to where he could only guess it was. A small smile eased its way onto his face at the mere thought of it. He really did love Kir so very much.
Reaching a hand under the covers and down carefully, making sure he didn’t in any way disturb the exhausted psychic, he found his hand and ghosted a finger along its back, dragging downwards from his wrist along the back of his palm, over his knuckles and along the sterling ring in question, and still downward along a singular finger. Reaching the tip, Lae turned his hand over and slid under Kir’s, twinning his fingers through the openings between the others. As the bracelet on his own wrist shifted slightly, he marveled at how he’d ever survived without this before.
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Post by Hawk on Mar 26, 2010 20:51:30 GMT -6
[[You can take these each as one-shots, or as all connected. I wrote ‘em as a bit of both. Also, the second-to-last is a kind of addendum to the last music prompt I did with Bells to ‘Annie’ by Low vs. Diamond, because that one was more or less what fits in there. Yesit'shellalongshaddupthat'showIroll. <3]]
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Song: What Is This Thing Called Love Artist: Frank Sinatra (From the ‘In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning’ album)
There it was again. That feeling, one that was thrilled and attracted him, while it simultaneously calmed and comforted as well. So strange. Belial’s eyes lifted as if of their own accord, seeking out the source as one would something that sparkled in the light. What they found was a woman, one in a plain gown of muted blues with mousy brown hair. She was the type that went unnoticed by the attendees of galas like these, simple enough that she merited no mention, but sophisticated enough to exempt her from scorn.
But oh, if they could feel how she shined.
There had been others in the past, ones like her. He’d always wondered what made them special. Why was their yearning so contradicting? What made it so striking? For one that understood much in the realm of lust, it was frustrating to find himself entirely stumped.
When the song finished and she stepped off the floor, Belial decided investigation was in order. After excusing himself from the group he’d been conversing with, he made his way over to her. With a tap on the shoulder and a quick apology for mistaking her as his sister, a sibling he coincidentally didn’t have, he was easily able to start up a conversation. However, her comments about ballroom décor and the latest in-fashion steps were much less revealing than the glances she shot at her former dance partner. Every look bolstered the mysterious feeling in question.
Latching onto this, he asked about the man. He seemed normal, but one never knew about these things. She said that he was her fiancée, something that was contradicted by her bare ring finger. When he pointed this out, she absently added, “Ours is one that needs no outward assurances of devotion. The love in our hearts is enough.” She quickly followed with an apology for her frankness, which he graciously forgave.
A few minutes more of idle chatter, and she excused herself. Then she stepped away to pull her lover back to the floor for the next song, a lively Viennese waltz. He stared after, feeling full of energy from just the small bit of pure wanting he took in during their short interaction, and thought, Ah, so this is ‘love’...
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Song: Try A Little Tenderness Artist: Frank Sinatra
“…You kissed my hand.”
Belial blinked. Nodded.
“That’s very…”
He could imagine the words that would come next, even if she didn’t say them. “Old-fashioned, right?” A self-depreciating grin broke through of its own accord. “I apologize, seems I’m bad at shaking old habits. I was…raised that way, you could say.” Dropping her hand, and slipping his own into his pocket, he continued, “Enough about my habits, it’s late and I’m sure you—“
Two hands wrapping around his arms cut him short. “No, that wasn’t what I was going to say,” the woman said, shaking her head for emphasis. “…Nice. I was going…” Pulling enough to free his hand again, she slipped hers down to hold it loosely, but resolutely. “I wanted to say that it was very nice of you, before you cut me short.” Smiling up at him, she added with good humor, “Though yes, it is pretty old-fashioned. But a girl likes that from time to time, you know.” Then she leaned up, quickly brushed her lips against his, and followed with a simple, whispered, “Thanks.”
“…You’re most welcome,” was what Belial found himself whispering back. And he was surprised to realize that he meant it. In many more ways than one.
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Song: Nevertheless (I’m In Love With You) Artist: Frank Sinatra
“I’m in love with you.”
The first time Belial had spoken the words that day, just hours ago, his smile had been wide as the phrase practically burst forth from him. She’d turned to him, smiling deviously at some joke he’d said and the feeling had swelled up in him to the point where he simply couldn’t contain it.
Now, the words were murmured, more a breath than a sentence. They had to be, lest he wake up the object of his affection. She’d drifted off an hour before, mumbling something to the effect of him cheating by getting energy off her to stay awake. She’d decided earlier in the night that if he didn’t sleep, she didn’t have to either. A cute, if not apparently futile, declaration.
As he thought about the past few hours, about the words that had finally been spoken aloud, a bittersweet grin rose on his lips. It was an expression reserved for when there was nobody to see it grace his face. Five small words. While they may be small, they held momentous importance to him. And momentous risk. His heart was almost all he had. Sharing it with someone else was chancy, especially being as he was. But, as he ran his fingers slowly through her hair, listened to her steady breaths as she rested against him, Belial couldn’t find within himself any urge to take back his actions.
“You’re just going to get hurt again.” Like a phantom, Mia’s bitter words flitted across his mind. And he knew that it was a real concern. He knew that every relationship he’d had in the past had fallen by the wayside, given time. He knew that the chance of a loving relationship continuing in his favor was near impossible. But, nevertheless…
Nevertheless.
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Song: If I Didn’t Care Artist: Amy Adams & Lee Pace
“…You’re going to leave.” It was a waif of a sentence, hardly even there. He hadn’t even meant to speak it aloud. But, the words had somehow worked their way out of his mouth.
The response was a minute of silence. Each second was weighted with hope that the words would just disappear. Both of them wished they would. Then she gave in and sighed. It was a sad sound, followed by words almost as quiet, but definitive. “Yes, I am.”
It took a while for Belial to react, mainly because he couldn’t seem to make his throat loosen up enough to let words through. Finally he managed to push one past: “Why?”
“Because…” She took her own turn at silence once again, as if trying to think of the words to say, of how to explain. “…Hannah and I, we talked about what to do at her baby shower today. She’s going to have a little girl. Naming her Loretta. I said it was too stuffy, but they…” As if realizing she was tangenting, she swallowed, then continued on. “They were talking about what crib Loretta should have, and the clothes to buy for her, and what color to make Andy paint the room…” Trailing off, she raised a hand to her face, presumably to brush at her bangs. “Hun, I want a little baby girl. I want to argue over names and pick out clothing. I want… I want to be able to marry the man I love without worrying that someone’ll find out he doesn’t really exist. I want to grow old with someone. I know I told you I didn’t, but I do. I really…really, really do…”
He had no good response for that. Had never been able to come up with one for the concerns she had, even as he’d constantly feared their appearance. So he settled on saying the only thing that he could manage to pull from his mind. Brokenly, he forced out each word. “…I-I love you. I’m in love with you. D-do you at least…” Closing his eyes, he took a breath. Let it out slowly. “Do you at least believe that?”
“Of course I do,” was her quick and confident response. “And you know I feel the same about you. I could never fake that. But this…has nothing to do with love. Or maybe…” Stapling her fingers together, she started to squeeze at her knuckles. It was a calming habit of hers, Belial knew. “Maybe it has everything to do with love. If I didn’t love you, maybe I wouldn’t be leaving. But I do, and so…I am.”
Not understanding, he chanced a look down at her. He instantly wished he hadn’t when his eyes met hers looking back up at him. She was crying. Silently, mind, but there were steady lines of tears on her cheeks. Seeing them made his own vision start to cloud, much as he didn’t want it to. This was hard enough already.
Wiping a hand across her eyes, she sent him a broken grin as she added, “It’s just… Sometimes, love alone isn’t enough.”
“Anna…” He leaned over, aiming to kiss her lips, or maybe just kiss her cheek, even the top of her head. He wasn’t sure what his goal was. Just that he needed reassurance. Instead, he found his lips meeting her hand, gentle, but placed firmly between them.
“…I’m sorry, Belial.”
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Song: Adieu Artist: Emily Bindiger and Yoko Kanno (Cowboy Bebop OST)
“…I’m sorry, Belial.”
Even though the apartment was practically empty, he could still hear that little, broken sentence ringing through every room. More feel than hear it, really. Everything was feelings with him. That was how he’d noticed Anna in the first place: Not looks or mannerisms, but how her aura of lust had held some small uniqueness, some sort of strength that eventually made him think, ‘Maybe, just maybe, she’s one I can risk giving some of myself to.’
The thought brought a grin to his lips, one that slowly spread to suppressed chuckles. His attempt, his persistence, his hope… It was laughable. Even he couldn’t deny that. What a fool he’d been. He couldn’t wait to see Mia’s face when he told her she’d been right. Just as she always had been. She would probably have her quip already lined up, all smirks and smugness as he grinned at her new line and hid his few belongings back in her closet again.
So caught up was he in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice the tears that had once again started to make their way down his face.
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Song: A Stray Child Artist: Emily Bidinger and Yuki Kajiura (.hack//SIGN OST)
A smile, and then, “Hun, you worry too much. Don’t be such—”
“—a fool.”
Belial hated drinking.
“I mean, you really had delusions that this time would be different, didn’t you? You had some silly pipedream—
“—of things? Like the house you want to live in, or the people you’d like to know? What do you dream about, Belial?”
Hated it. Had forgotten why, and was now being painfully reminded.
Another soft, affectionate laugh rang through his mind. “A bartender who doesn’t drink? It’s a wonder they even hired you. Didn’t you think—”
“—this one would manage to overlook the fact that you aren’t normal. You always have, Bellsie. When are you going to figure out that it’ll never work, that this…this sadistic obsession with feelings you have will never have a happy—”
“—to have you here. It’s just…tiring at times, you know?” An uncertain smile ghosted through his mind’s eye, and then an unconfident chuckle. “…Or maybe it’s work that has me so tired. Yes, that must be it. Never mind, not to worry, L—”
“—ove is a waste of time. I mean, really, it’s a wonder I keep caring. One of these times, I’ll just up and leave while you’re gone. And then what’ll you do, hm? Where’ll you go when things come crashing down around you? Who will you have left? I’ll tell you who: Nobody.”
Thumping his head against the brick wall behind him, Belial sunk down to sit on the ground. Why did everyone say liquor made things better? It really just made every bit of his past so much more real, brought it all back to life in a painful mesh. Even the things that were just memories, fragments long lost…
“I love you.”
Pulling his knees tightly against his chest, he rested his head against them, and clung to that one phrase, one voice, one face. Even if it wasn’t his to claim anymore, it was all he had to pull him through.
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Song: God Help The Outcasts Artist: Heidi Mollenhauer
It was an extra dry martini that made him notice it.
He’d been at the small cocktail lounge, working his bartending job, the last vestige of his brief affair with having a normal life. He wasn’t even sure why he still had the job, except… Well, except that losing it would be the same as letting go. So, he continued on as if in a haze, mixing drinks with alcohol he didn’t even like on autopilot.
Finished making the latest order, he slid over to the corner of the bar where it had been ordered from. The customer was a man, mid-thirties, average features. Filing away this information in case he ordered another of the same, Belial set down the drink and turned back around to the center. Then stopped. Something had seemed…off about this one. Turning back around, he took a closer look at the man. Nothing abnormal.
Then he looked at him in the way that only he could see, and discovered something he’d never seen before. A void. While the man appeared completely normal, he had no wants. Even with a clouded mind, Belial could tell that this wasn’t right. Everyone wanted something, everyone strove to have things, to go places, to see p—
He dismissed the thought before he could think through the word ‘people’. The thought of missed people was too much to bear. It wasn’t until an hour later, as he was serving the mystery man his third drink, he realized that his avoidance was itself the answer. Eyes widening slightly, he glances to the mirror that served as a wall behind the bar. Sure enough, he found the same…emptiness coming from himself.
But he knew he wasn’t without lust. He couldn’t be because of what he was, he thought bitterly. And then had another realization.
So, lust could be masked, then? Pain and denial and damage could push a person to hide away their wants? He thought of how early on he had noticed the light of love, and of how much time he’d spent studying the subtle nuances of need. Why, then, had he not noticed this before? As his shift went on, he considered that question. Reached the conclusion that maybe he had to know loss in order to recognize it. After all, you can’t notice something missing unless you knew it was there to begin with.
He also realized something else much later in the night, as he laid back against the couch he’d reclaimed in Mia’s apartment. Much as it hurt to think about what he’d lost - about her - he couldn’t help but think of how much of a tragedy it would be if she was hiding away her unique sparkle. What, then, would she think if she could see that he was closing himself off? The image made him cringe, even more so than usual. So, he resolved to do something about it. And not just in his own case.
The next night, Belial turned in his resignation to the lounge manager. It was time to move on. Besides, he had more important things to be taking care of. After all, if he was the only one who could see the voids, it seemed to be left up to him to start filling them.
He didn’t visit the lounge again until nearly half a century later, at the request of a rather special letter.
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Song: I Get Along Without You Very Well Artist: Frank Sinatra
“…I brought you hydrangeas.”
After sitting in silence for a moment, he set them down. Then he followed, sliding down to the ground and crossing his legs. Slipping a hand behind him and burying it in the grass to prop himself up, he grinned softly. “I know they aren’t your favorite, but I couldn’t resist. And I know how you used to love variety, so I’d hate to do what you expect.”
The breeze was his only response, just strong enough to brush at his bangs lightly. He tilted his head back, letting his eyes slide closed as he enjoyed the light caress. Almost without thought, he continued on. “…So peaceful here. It’s like its own little slice of heaven.” The comment was followed a couple seconds later by a few chuckles. “Or as close as I’ll get, that is.
“…I got your letter. I’m not sure how you knew I’d still be at Mia’s, or even that she lived in the same place.” Bringing his gaze forward once again, he chuckled. “Then again, you always did seem to have your own magical ways. I went to the lounge, like you asked, and they directed me here. So, here I am.
“Anyway, I’m here to tell you that I’m doing just fine. I know you were worried, but you don’t need to be. Those three years of love you gave me… They’ll last me to the end of forever, easily. And I’m doing some real good, Anna. I’m making it so other people can have what I’ve already had more than my fair share of. What more could I ask for?” Automatically leaving no time to answer, because she was always the type to answer a rhetorical, he finished with, “I’m happy you thought of me, though. I just wish you—” Pausing a minute to collect himself, he quietly amended, “Just…thanks, Anna. Many times over.” Reluctant to leave, he sat another few minutes in the quiet, almost expecting to hear a laugh, or maybe even a light reprimand in response.
But, nothing came. So, he pushed himself back to his feet. Brushed the grass off his jeans. Then he took a couple steps forward, and rested a hand on the small gravestone. Expression sombering, he mumbled a quick, “Miss you,” as he shook off the itching in the corners of his eyes. Then pushed one more grin onto his face and leaned over to brush his lips against the marble, just as he had to her hand all those decades ago.
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Song: Angels Artist: David Archuleta
Annie. It even sounded like her name.
He just couldn’t seem to stop thinking tonight. Maybe it was because the name had made him nostalgic. After all, there wasn’t much else that the two women had in common. He glanced down at her, taking in the few features he could make out in the moonlight. Ironically, Anna had always looked so much more fragile than the girl next to him now. But she was the real fragile one, with Belial left to try and pick up the pieces…
Pick up, but not rearrange.
Giving up on the idea of settling in, he gently slipped his arm out from under the woman. It was still early, but he could at least take a shower and examine the kitchen for something to throw together in a few hours. Breakfast was the least he could do before he left. And also the most he could do.
After all, he’d held an angel for a few short years, and that was the most that anyone like him could wish for…
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Song: Someone to Watch Over Me Artist: Frank Sinatra
…But, every once in a while, he would catch sight of that feeling, shimmering like a star. And he would think of life and of loss, of the world, of her. And some small part of him, one dismissed as hopeless and buried way deep down, would wish.
Oh, how it would wish.
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Post by Hawk on Mar 26, 2010 20:53:06 GMT -6
[[Tired, and so posting things I'd prolly bury in my laptop if at full mental capacity. And yes, I am incapable of writing happy things. And do not care. Such is my nature. And, as a sidenote, why is everything posty I write too long, and everything storylike I write too short??]]
Song: In Pieces Artist: Linkin Park
Touches are a blessing and a curse when they’re happening on a timeline.
Even as he ran his fingers through a dozing Suzaku’s hair, he couldn’t help thinking about what a bad idea this was. Acting like their relationship could last. Forcing this pseudo-happiness on them both, only to tear it away. That chance had disappeared the moment they had seized the Britannian empire as their own.
Glancing down at the man beside him as he shifted in his sleep, Lelouch couldn’t keep a slight, but sad frown from marring his tired features. If only he was stronger, he would call it to an end now. Would not have let it start to begin with.
It would have to be just another regret he carried off to him to the next world.
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Song: Manhattan From The Sky Artist: Kate Voegele
The words danced on his lips so often.
What brought them to mind now was a handful of wildflowers, ones that Pheia had plucked on a whim because they were reminiscent of good memories. He fingered the petals of the rather ragged daisies, mouthing them to himself because there was no one else to hear them.
“…I love you.”
It was one of the simplest phrases in the world. Some people said it every morning, afternoon, and evening.
Pheia wasn’t one of those people.
Sure, he’d tried to say it before. A bittersweet grin crossed his face as he thought of the Valentine’s Day project for an elementary class that had him making construction paper cards for his parents. He’d still been working so hard to please them back then, long before all the bitterness that comes with age had set in. He’d spent hours on those cards after the teacher had explained their purpose, after she had said that they were supposed to be for the people you cared about most. He’d had to wait four days before his father had stopped home again, but Pheia was used to the absences, and was undeterred as he’d slipped the card into the man’s hand and given the unfamiliar words a try. Maybe they were what he’d been waiting to hear all along. Maybe ‘love’ was the thing that his parents need from him in order for them to accept him.
Pheia’s fingers tightened on the stems at the memory, what was left of his grin slipping further. All it had gained him was a slight nod, and a crushing wave that destroyed his childish dream of acceptance at the discovery of the card laying in the trash a couple days later.
Shaking his head to dispel darker thoughts, Phe brought his focus back to the bouquet in front of him. He was done letting his distant past interfere with his future. He’d done enough of that already. Shifting back onto an arm, he set the flowers next to him, ears shifting back in unconscious dismay. He seemed to have a talent for hurting, if his one failure of a relationship was any example.
That brought him to his second use of the phrase, memories that he so carefully evaded now. After all, it was probably one of his worst offenses in his rather dismal past, intentional or no. He’d started to break down, started to feel, and then felt inspired to take some…
Ear flicking in frustration, Phe settled on the phrase ‘leap of faith’, even though it was far from appropriate. He wasn’t the one with the faith. He just had a bit of hope, and a very shallow but slowly growing well of persistence. Regardless, he’d said the words. Said them, but not known if they were true. He hadn’t necessarily known if he’d been lying the first time, but the worry had grown as the months had. But he’d just kept going, kept using the phrase as a front for his doubts.
But, he hadn’t known.
Which brought him back around to his current predicament. Sighing, he let the hand holding him up loosen, and slipped back to lie on the ground. He’d had shitty parents and no childhood friends, and with the passing years he’d gained only co-workers he never let get too close and more than his share of shallow relationships built around sex. None of that produced anything near love. He was sure. So, if you’ve never had love…
“…How do you tell?” he mumbled to himself, a hint of desperation in his tone. He couldn’t just keep choking down the words, covering his lack of knowledge with sarcastic barbs. And he couldn’t keep seeing the little flicker that ran through the ninetail’s eyes when he noticed, remembered that Phe had taken back the sentiments he’d formerly spouted at any time. It hurt them both, a little more every time. But, lying would take them nowhere but backwards.
Reaching over blindly, Phe latched onto one of the daisies. Lifting it above him, he brushed a fingertip around the edges of the petals. Back when he was a kid, all of the girls on the playground had loved to play a game to find out if they’d been the object of someone’s affection, one centered entirely around those little petals. He’d watched sometimes, but never played himself. It wasn’t a game for the unloved, after all.
Singling out one particular petal, he pulled it free of its golden center. Followed it by another, and then another.
I love you.
I love you not.
I love you.
I love you not.
He’d only modified the game slightly, fitting it to his needs.
I love you, I love you not.
He was feeling more than seeing his way from petal to petal. His eyes were more focused on the sky, on the many reasons backing and discounting each option. But, he couldn’t seem to stop until he’d reached the end.
I love you not, I love you, I love you not…
A few seconds later, he plucked the last petal, words ringing through his mind as he did.
I love you.
If only it were that simple.
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Song: Half Life Artist: Imogen Heap
“You will be leaving this one too, right?”
The words were phrased in such a way that it wasn’t really a question. Appropriate, because silence was the only answer Belial had to give. They both knew what his answer to a question like that was. And both knew how tough it was for him to acknowledge. He hoped she would be kind and let the subject drop after revisiting that tidbit of unspoken knowledge.
But, his lack of a reply just seemed to goad her on, as she delivered her next barbs with some sense of incredulousness, as if he’d tried to argue the point. “Bel, when has staying in contact with someone for more than one or two nights ever worked out for you?”
“…I’ve had companions throughout the years.” The vague words said much less than the actions that accompanied them. Though he did his best to keep it in place, his grin thinned ever-so-slightly, and he shifted back just the slightest bit. Such small things, but they would speak volumes to Mia.
His prize for indecisiveness was a knowing look. She had him cornered, and she knew it. And any hopes he had of her taking the damage she’d done so far as enough was erased as she breathed more words. “But never one that’s lasted. Never one that’s stayed. So why do you keep trying to delude yourself?”
The words sharp, and Belial felt each as if they were a barb grazing against him. Not a source of serious injury, but something that scratched at old wounds just enough to make them bleed once again. His grin had degenerated to a crafted piece, a work of skill that persisted only with great effort. But his eyes were another story. Over a hundred years of practice, and he still couldn’t force cheer into them when it didn’t exist. Redirecting his gaze to the mirror hanging on the wall in the hallway, he quietly replied, “Hey, I still have you, I’ll have you know. I would think that’d disqualify me from the ‘Never’ category…”
It was an obvious duck, and Mia released a depreciative laugh. “Ours is a tie of convenience at best, and you know it.” Reaching a hand up, she took hold of his chin and made to turn his head back towards her. He could have resisted, but had long learned that it was simply easier to give her what she wanted. As he met her weighted gaze, he saw some small flash of emotion in her eyes. “Don’t you.” It should have been a question, but was said in a definitive tone, with no room for argument.
After a moment’s pause, all he could muster in return was a half-hearted chuckle of a sound. Only Mia... Reaching a hand up, he covered Mia’s with his own. She was the only one who could dig into him like that, read him so well that small scars became huge chasms that were impossible to defend. And she wouldn’t hesitate to stab into them as she so chose. So funny that he would count her as the only person he had…
He had intended to pull her hand off his chin, away from him, but his traitorous grip just tightened its hold instead. He had to force his eyes shut. His regard of her, no matter how high, still didn’t stop her from thinking little of him. And that glimmer in her eye, it spoke of understanding of the damage she was doing. And he knew that the shine was partly there because she was proud of being able to tear at him like this. ‘For his own good,’ she would say. But, knowing that didn’t soften the blows.
Apparently bored with his prolonged silence, Mia tugged her hand free. “Right, now that that’s settled…” Re-offering the hand to him of her own accord, as if the discussion was over because she’d deemed it so, she nodded her head down the hall, gesturing for them to move out of the entryway.
And because he never could afford letting go, he took it.
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Post by Hawk on Mar 26, 2010 20:54:35 GMT -6
[[If I could draw, this would probably be something I would've drawn instead of writing it out. I've had the picture of this little exchange in my head for a long time. Breaks my heart everytime.]]Song: Say (All I Need) Artist: OneRepublic and Song: Down Artist: Jason Walker www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqJG9aODv4QThe blade was hefted, aimed at a fatal point in the other’s chest. And in just a few seconds, it could find a home in his flesh. The battle would be ended, and Neriah could emerge victorious, his righteous mission completed. Just one quick thrust… But, as Neriah stared down at the creature – once a fellow angel – below him, he felt his hands begin to shake, even as they refused to lower even an inch. It was as if his muscles had been overtaken by cold, but this one ran below bone-deep, and into his very core. Even though the logical part of his mind knew that angels like him didn’t need to breathe, he took in a panicked gasp of air to try and loosen the tightening feeling in his throat. It was as if all his training to act as an avenger of Heaven had disappeared, powerless as he was to do more than simply keep the other restrained below him. And all the while, one simple thought was ringing through his mind: It shouldn’t be like this.The Unangel below him seemed amused by this turn. Directing a calm gaze and beyond-broken grin at Neriah, he whispered out, “What’s this, my little angel? Is Heaven’s watchman unable to stand the cold of a little rain?” The mocking in each word was miles thick, so much as to cover any other emotions behind the words. “Or are we perhaps paralyzed by pity?” A few moments’ wait with no response, and his eyes hardened into something even darker as he bit out another quiet word: “Pathetic.”All the while, Neriah didn’t hear a word. He was busy watching the Fallen One’s eyes. In all his few short months on this beautiful planet, he had learned that while men may tell lies and women could deceive, the eyes were such a telling part of a person. In them, he saw by one part something so much like the looking glasses humans used to see their reflections. Every thought and emotion another person had for him, they all showed clearly in the eyes. By another part, they were like the windows on their buildings, letting him see into the person that had them. The sapphire eyes staring up at him now were different, though. It was as if someone had thrown a stone at the mirror, smashed a hand into the window. Reflections of himself, the true inner feelings of the being below him, they were all there. He could see fragments of them, but the cracks made them impossible to read, so widespread and overlapping after millennia of slowly spreading, extending and re-breaking– “Neriah, my little one, I don’t have much patience.” He had returned to the lyrical whisper, but the hard edge still rang out quietly under every word. The feathers of his beautiful, broken wings, covered in myriad layers of scars, twitched as he spoke, sending water droplets flying. It was as if they were uncomfortable with their holder’s need to push for resolution in such a deadly situation. “Either stake your claim to victory, or let me get back to making someone miserable, because your mental battle of morals is more painfully dull than having my chest torn open possibly could be.” –How had it happened? Of course, Neriah knew the basics, and had heard snippets and hints at more from the former angel in his less lucid moments. He also knew that they were to the point where there wasn’t any excuse in the world that could save the one he has been sent after. Misery knew no name like an angel scorned, and this one had racked up a Hell-ish amount of damage to innumerable people. But, as he stared down at the broken eyes, broken wings, broken soul he had finally cornered, he felt nothing like the emotion of ‘anger’ that men seemed to tie to vengeance. He didn’t feel anything like that of the ‘pride’ that they tied to their successes, nor did he feel the ‘happiness’ that usually came with a job well done. No, from the limited understanding of emotions he’d gained since he came here, there was only one he’d observed that fit with how he felt now: ‘Sadness’. It shouldn’t be like this.“What are you looking at?” The question was so abrupt that it would’ve made Neriah start if he wasn’t so deeply enveloped in his thoughts, more a snarl than a sentence. It was like he’d been following Neriah’s mental process as well, and hadn’t liked the conclusion. “You were sent here on a mission, weren’t you? So finish the damn thing already!” He’d by then started to lean up, pushing himself to the point where in moments he would be digging the ax into his own skin if he didn’t stop. But he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe didn’t even care. And in his eyes, Neriah could see the cracks become even more pronounced, new ones snapping into place. The Unangel may have been sitting under him right now, but in his mind he was starting a journey to a place a million miles away, one that Neriah had watched him take before. Or maybe the journey was to a few thousand years away. The insanity was taking over once again. Taking one hand off his weapon, he brought it down on the other’s chest and pushed him back to the ground, and away from the sharp edge that had already formed a slowly-bleeding shallow wound. Being his judge was one thing, but Neriah would not be the one to force further capital sin upon him as well. The hands of Heaven had already brought him enough pain. But, this touch only served to anger the Fallen One more. Cringing in more pain at the contact with Neriah than he had to any of his flesh wounds, he ground out, “’He will not pardon my transgressions; for my name is in him.’ That’s what these foolish humans believe their God to say of his winged servants. If that were true, you would be a disgrace, my feeble coward of an avenger.” Snapping from anger to unhinged amusement in the space of milliseconds, he started into unsettling chuckles at some personal joke only he was privy to, before continuing on. “What, do you demand more sins from me yet to make your judgment? You must know by now that I hold no honor in my heart for our Father, nor that I devote myself to him as my God. So, do I have to sit here and call him a bedamned fool to get you to move? Or do you demand more creative blasphemy to shock that arm of yours into action? Because you’d be surprised at the hate these humans have taught me to pour into–”As he continued to speak, Neriah’s slight shaking became worse and worse. The loss of faith, the bitterness, the years of slowly diminishing into something that was a shadow of what he must have once been… Every word was steeped in all of these dark things, and so many more. And he was an angel. It was heartbreaking. And Neriah just needed him to stop. And so, he leaned closer to the one so much like him, and yet so different. Leaned and leaned, until Neriah’s forehead was resting on the others’, and their faces were mere inches apart. It was intimate and impersonal, awkward and yet oddly comfortable. And stop the fallen angel had, seemingly shocked into a confused silence. And something snapped into place at that moment. Not something monumental, and certainly nothing that would change the situation they were in now, or the events that had led up to it. That was beyond anybody’s powers at this point. It was instead a moment of understanding, of looking into each others’ eyes, and truly seeing for the space of a second. And that clarity prompted Neriah to speak for the first time since his victory had become obvious, the word pushing its way through practically of its own volition. “Sorry.” It was nothing but a breath, entirely silent and out of lips that barely moved, but filled with weight. It carried the guilt of what Neriah was about to do, but also of so much more than that. It was an apology for all that had gone wrong in the former angel’s past, an apology for his fall from heaven, for the lack of faith he’d had in the world and for the insanity that had overcome him. It was an apology for everything that had brought them to where they were now, one that should’ve come from numerous others and nobody at all. But, as he was the only one here now, at the end, it fell to Neriah to pass along the message. After a minute of silence, but for the rain falling around them, the Lost One opened his mouth and took in a breath to speak. Expecting nothing less than some scathing retort, Neriah steeled himself for whatever razor-sharp words were about to be thrown his way. However, none came. The other simply let his mouth fall back closed. He stared up at Neriah – eyes still impossibly cracked, but much closer to clear than they’d ever been since the two had first met – and the avenging angel saw in them so much pain, all laid bare for just one moment more. Pain, but also resignation. And then the curtain of eyelids fell over them, and the show was over. There was nothing left to do, but… It shouldn’t be like this……And yet, it was. The inescapability of the situation didn’t keep him from forcing his eyes shut as he finally brought the blade down. Nor did it stop the tears that found their way through his eyelids for the first time since his creation, and melded with the rain as they ran down his face and onto that of the one that could’ve been so much more, and once had been.
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Post by Hawk on Mar 26, 2010 20:55:49 GMT -6
[[Oh, Music Prompts. How you need to stop existing so I'll actually post. And oh, my boys. How you just need to stop. Please. Anyway, not sure if I feel finished with the second yet, so it might be edited over the next few days. *tired*]]
Song: One Last Breath Artist: Creed
‘It’s not real.’
That desperate thought was all that Pheia had to cling to as he pulled himself up in bed, and out of the last vestiges of his dreams. Nightmares. Memories. Whatever the hell they were. Not that it mattered, because they weren’t real. Raising a hand to his head, he pressed each fingertip into his face so hard, as if he pushed hard enough, he must be able to force images out of it.
They were never the same. Sometimes he was in his parents’ house again, surrounded by silence and enveloped by the loneliness that defined his childhood. Other times it would be the bar, or his drafty old apartment. But, the one consistent thing in them was him. And not only that he was there, but how he was. Cold. Aloof. Entirely broken. Unchanged. And still so very alone.
And being all alone when he woke up, buried in night that made everything seem so much more real… The Persian took in a quick breath to steady himself, and brought his knees up tightly against his chest. Wrapping an arm around them as he kept the other pressed against his face, he tried to stifle the panic that still wanted to work its way out of him.
What he never questioned was whether it was the world of his dreams that really made him panic when he woke up, or if it was his return to the reality he had worked himself into. Because, really, he didn’t want to face the truths that he might discover if he did. And the inevitable fall that would follow those truths.
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Songs and Artists: ‘Take Me Home’ (Both original and acoustic) by After Midnight Project, and ‘Little Bird’ by Imogen Heap, ‘Hundred’ and ‘You Found Me’ by The Fray, ‘In Repair’ by John Mayer, ‘All We Are’ and ‘Say’ by OneRepublic, ‘Tears and Rain’ by James Blunt, ‘Because’ by The Beatles
[[Also inspired by a section of a character quiz from a while back]]
“I-I’m sorry…”
Mia could barely discern the whisper, would’ve purposely ignored it if she hadn’t caught its hint of desperation. From her place on the worn-out maize couch, she’d heard the key in the lock, heard someone slipping in – heard Belial slipping in. Nobody else had a key, after all.
She hadn’t even thought about putting in the energy to greet him. She wasn’t caught up in formalities and crap like he was, wasn’t caught up in the dressings of her age. But then she’d heard the slow steps, caught the almost nonexistent sound of a hand sliding along the wall of the bit of entrance hallway to the sizeable apartment. And those couple words, that tired tone…
Those she was familiar with.
Glare already forming, Mia chanced a glance over the back of the couch. And, sure enough, she was met with a sight she was familiar with, too. Slightly hunched with exhaustion and breathing shallowly, the man she’d become intimately and annoyingly connected to over the past couple centuries already had his eyes diverted. Of course he would. God forbid he had to face the ire he must’ve known he’d get for showing up like this again.
There were many things she wanted to say, but she didn’t vocalize any of them. He’d come here, just like he always did when it got to this point, so he could damn well manage to at least speak past some half-hearted apology.
The way he shifted slightly under her gaze made it obvious he knew it too, and after a few tense seconds, he met her silent demand. Mask of a grin still in place, but shaky at best, he began to push out words steeped in false humor. “S-such a charming look… No wonder I… always end up h-here in this condition.” A forced smile like he’d just made some wonderfully original joke was accompanied by, “Who could resist w-waiting… if they have that face to greet them?”
All excuses, recycled a hundred years over yet again. They just managed to annoy her infinitely more every time they crossed his lips. Reigning her anger and muted concern in, she channeled it into a thin stream, one she let show only through her darkly amused tone. “So, the tragic hero has decided to try once again to deny his existence. How’s that working for you, Bellsie?” Covering the glower that was just itching to make its way onto her face with a biting smirk, she added, “Because, really, you’re not looking so hot.”
This time, the silence stretched for an almost uncomfortable amount of time, broken only by his slip down the wall to sit on the floor, and the occasional half breath. Probably the beginnings of sentences that Belial rethought before actually speaking them. He continued like that for so long that Mia turned her gaze from him with a quiet sound of deprecation. She could hear him making a fool of himself enough that she didn’t need to watch it, too. That, and the sight of him struggling like he was…
God, if he hadn’t been like this too many times to count, and pretty much always with only himself to blame, he’d break what little heart she had.
Then the breaths came together to make sounds, hesitant and even quieter. “Do you… D-do you ever have… dreams, Mia? Things you… w-wish could come true?”
The words just served to agitate her even more. He would always do that: dance around the problem at hand with pretty words. He covered himself in so much fucking fluff-
Mia had to take a moment to breathe, to bring herself back to a bitter calm. Fingers clenching into a blanket, crumpled at her side and out of sight, she made words glide out of her mouth as if they just came naturally. “Mine generally have to do with new positions to try out on my next one-night-stand.”
Another forced sound of amusement was the only reward she got for her sarcasm. “Of c-course…” A few seconds’ pause to catch his breath, and then Belial continued, “I mean… I mean about life, Mia…” The sound of a slight shift, and then he clarified in a lower tone, “About… About getting c-close to someone… to a-anyone…”
“I get close to people every night, Bellsie. That’s kind of how sex works.”
Mia was rewarded for her words with a pronounced sigh. “I-is there really… n-nothing more to you in… life than s-sex…?”
She spun to face him as she said, “Should there really be any more than that in yours?” The question came out much more angrily than she’d intended, voice filled with an only barely-leashed malice. It was so hard to keep her calm when he behaved like this. She took a couple moments to breathe before speaking again, lightness in her tone over pronounced from how hard she was working to not just beat him over the head with the honesty of her words. “I mean, look at how well trying to live outside of the box is treating you.”
“…S-seems worth it… if it’s m-making my life… m-mean something...”
‘It’s killing you!’ is what she wanted to yell. Because a meaningful life doesn’t end in you crawling into your life-long friend’s apartment to scrape through the day by begging her to give you the bit of energy you need to not fall into a coma. It was so much bullshit, and he was such a child. Hundreds of years of life, and he still hadn’t just grown up and dealt with his life. She wanted to stand up, walk over, and punch him.
But, it wouldn’t help. Another lesson learned many times over. The frustration of that truth pushed her to make barbs that would cut. Ones that would sting. “I thought you were the one who shied away from calling it a ‘life’, Bellsie. And, unless your crawl into my apartment right now was meaningful, I think you’re not exactly the crowning example of a life filled with worth.”
They were met with nothing but the silence that had become so familiar over the last few minutes. Mia didn’t have near the empathetic abilities that Belial had, but even she could tell that he’d shut down on her after that particular response. As if he had the right to do that when he was here looking for energy from her. The nerve of him. The nerve.
Anger bringing her to frankness, she amended her response. “Dreams are for working your way towards something you want to see happen one day. Wishing you could go back fifty years, having some crazy dream that you could’ve just become a normal guy through sheer force of will and been a part of a cookie cutter family with that woman, that’s a waste of a dream.”
“But it’s my dream,” was his quick reply, said with more clarity than any of the other sentences he’d managed to choke out in their short exchange. The strength of the words was underscored, however, by the way his muscles shifted slightly as he said the words. The movement was small, but they were enough to practically broadcast to Mia that he was tensing up, preparing himself for whatever she had to say next.
Not one to disappoint, she returned with, “A fool’s dream, then. How appropriate.”
“I know.”
Everything about Belial leaked warmth, always had since Mia’d met him. But the tone that accompanied those two small words was cold and abrupt. For one second, for those two words, she could almost swear there was a third person in the room if she hadn’t watched his lips form them. Then, just as suddenly as the warmth had disappeared it was back again, accompanying the broken words that formed his next sentences. “…B-but, if dreams’re… all I’ve got, m-may as… well cling to them, y-you know…?” The ever-present grin was going strong once again as he continued in a self-mocking tone that was chock full of lightness, “And besides… y-you’ve always known… I’m just a f-fool.”
He may as well have said the conversation was over.
So, Mia stood. Walked over to him. And she looked down at him for just long enough that it would make him feel the weight of her restrained glare before she leaned down to kiss him. Hard. She might not be able to deny him what he needed, but she would continue to hope she could burn the pain she inflicted upon him, the pain he earned through his own choices, into him deep enough that it would finally sink into his mind.
Because it wasn’t only himself he was killing piece by piece each time he did this.
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Post by Hawk on Mar 26, 2010 20:58:12 GMT -6
[[OHMIGAWDLONGPOSTISLONG. I only like some of these. For various reasons. But I was at a cabin that didn’t even have cell reception all weekend, so here’s what happens when all I have is a laptop with no internet. Read at your own risk, because editing was minimal. And some of them are written really weird. *various other complaints about own writing* Also, my apologies to the Music Prompts page in general, for making it absurdly long. X3;;]]
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Song: Absolutely Zero Artist: Jason Mraz
“I’m not afraid, you know.”
The words startled Suzaku. They’d been at the pond's edge for over an hour now, Lelouch sitting on the stairs below him, and him standing above. Just staring out at the water, thinking. They did a lot of that now; silent contemplation, just being in each other’s company. It was oddly comfortable. Not in the same way that it used to be before…everything. They could never be like that again, and both knew it. But the ghost of comfort remained, maybe because each was the only one who finally knew everything about the other.
Various responses, each driven by a different emotion, came to mind. He settled on, “My job as your knight is to protect you.” Even tone, no real facial expression. Feigning ignorance. Seemed like the safest course of action.
A quiet huff of amusement met his ears in response, followed by, “You know what I’m talking about, Suzaku.” His voice had none of the grandeur that infused it when he was acting as Emperor. None of that Zero-esque flair that could demand the obedience of thousands with a few words. It was just… Lelouch: quiet, straightforward, still too smart for his own damn good, but not quite as smug about it.
“The Requiem?” he obligingly responded.
Lelouch gave an approving hum in response. “The Zero Requiem…” He practically caressed the words as he spoke them, falling from his lips with something akin to affection.
Suzaku would’ve left it there. Was tempted to, because anything surrounding Zero was a subject that was best left alone between the two of them. Too many bad memories. But, that tone…
“Why?” The question was overly vague, but Suzaku had become a man of few words over the last few months. Words never changed anything. Actions did. If there was one thing he’d learned in the past year, it was that.
But the question didn’t confuse Lelouch in the least. Even as Suzaku continued to stare out at the water, he could feel the violet eyes of the man he now served weighing on him, assessing him. “I wonder if you could understand.”
The sentence hit Suzaku as belittling, whether or not it was meant to. He could feel his lips dip just a bit as the smallest of frowns worked its way onto his face. But just as quick as it appeared, Lelouch was making that same little amused sound he had earlier. “It’s not a matter of your intelligence, or of secrets that I’m unwilling to tell, so you can stop being offended,” he said, amusement coloring his voice for a moment, only to fade straight back into seriousness. “I just meant that you, with your ability to flit from mission to mission as the need arises, might not be able to understand the feeling of being at the cusp of completing a lifelong goal.”
And it was true, Suzaku didn’t really understand. He’d entered into this agreement with a sense of obligation, and only because he had firm knowledge that there was no other way for this to end well. The Zero Requiem, to him, was just filled with endings. The end of overlording Britannia. The end of the Black Knights. The end of his revenge. The end of Suzaku Kururugi. And the end of Lelouch, in all forms.
So, he just stood there silently, staring out at the water, waiting for Lelouch to continue. He wasn’t a man of few words, especially when he started talking. And now was no exception, as picked up just as if Suzaku had responded. “I always wanted to crush Britannia. You’re one of the few who know how badly. And now, after all my work, now…”
Suzaku shifted his gaze to rest the full weight of it on Lelouch as he asked, “Was it worth it?” The question was infused with bitterness, but Suzaku couldn’t help but ask it. That dream of Lelouch’s had cost them. Oh, how it had cost them. If he’d had that damned power of Lelouch’s, he would’ve used it to wipe that wish from his memory a long time ago, and they would’ve all lived the better for it.
The words seemed to have a tiring effect on the man. His natural aura of regality seemed to fade as he leaned further in on himself, resting crossed arms on his legs to support himself. “…I don’t know.” That must have been hard for him to say, because Lelouch prided himself on knowing things. “But I do know that I can’t change the past, and so my focus goes to changing the future. The Requiem marks a new start.”
Just like Lelouch, to see a beginning where Suzaku saw an ending. They never could see eye to eye on anything. “And the Requiem’s worth it?” He posed this question more hesitantly, voice only a step above a whisper as he said it. And he almost thought Lelouch hadn’t heard it, he was silent for so long after. But, just when he’d resigned himself to getting no answer, one came.
“I set out to slay a demon, and in doing so became the devil himself. And now, all I have to do to complete my mission is pay the ultimate price.” The irony in it might have made Suzaku laugh, were it not so painfully true. Lelouch was apparently stronger than him, because he did, just the slightest bit. And then he turned to catch Suzaku’s eye, purple irises gleaming with amusement and resignation and sadness and so many other emotions, but still clear as his convictions. “So, to answer your earlier question, you tell me, Suzaku, how could I be afraid of a sentence that I’ve unknowingly given myself since I was a child?”
He didn’t have a response for that. Just stared right back, silent, until Lelouch gave him a small grin, and then nodded before turning back to gaze at the calm waters once again. And it struck Suzaku again, as it had over and over again in the last month, that when it came down to it, the man sitting with him wasn’t Zero, and he wasn’t the Emperor of Britannia. He was just Lelouch. Just a young man who’d taken on too much, and grown up too fast. Both of them had. And now, they were paying the price.
Still silent as the grave, he stepped forward, rested a hand on Lelouch’s shoulder. It was all he could manage to do, still too torn between too many emotions involving Lelouch to do anything more. But he’d still felt obliged to do something. Words didn’t change anything, but actions did. Suzaku’s one lesson learned. ‘I don’t blame you.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I’ll miss you.’ Suzaku didn’t have enough conviction behind any of those statements to say them, but he hoped the half-thoughts at least were conveyed through the supportive gesture.
And, though Lelouch spoke no more words as they both stared out unseeingly, the hand that reached up to cover his said one last thing, calmly and as clear as day:
‘Thank you.’
----------
Song: Sleep Artist: My Chemical Romance
In his many years of roaming the earth, Aeschylus had found many things about people to envy. Much more to abhor, might he add, but abhorring had become a skill of his. That aside, the one thing that he envied the most was their ability to sleep.
God, what he wouldn’t give to just sleep.
The damned secondhand creations were given this ability to black out when they were miserable, to take a step out of life, and all without actually having to permanently give it up. Then again, his Father had always liked the humans better, so it wasn’t that hard to believe that He’d given them yet another blessing.
And, what killed him most is that humans could do this wondering thing called dream. If he could fall asleep and have the possibility of seeing her, of seeing them, alive and moving, smiling and happy, running along in the grass and carefree with no idea what was about to happen to them—
Oh, how the humans had no idea what they had. And how he would continue to tear himself to pieces during the long nights, because he would never have what they took for granted.
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Song: Sweet Child O’ Mine Artist: Guns ‘N Roses
“So, how’s Precocious, LiLi?”
Laeli had to work to keep himself from chuckling at the nickname, instead aiming a stern, if not amused look at his sister. “Must you really insist on calling him that, Liani?”
The woman in question just returned the look in kind, albeit with more amusement than sternness, before turning back to the oven. Hands busy chopping away at red onions as her tail was at work stirring the beginnings of a sauce on the stove, she answered, “Sister’s rights. I’m allowed to call whoever stole your attention away from me by whatever name I want.” Lifting the hot ladle to wave at him mock-threateningly, she added, “And there’s nothing you can do about it, Li~”
“Care to wager a bet on that?” he mumbled, but it wasn’t a serious threat, and they both knew it. Instead, he put a hand on the most conveniently placed kitchen chair, flipping it backwards and sitting down in it. “…He’s just as good as he always is, I’d think.” Just watching her cook made him smile. Limbs all on the move, doing as many things as she could, all at once. It was the exact opposite of his lazy nature. Or the perfect complement, as they’d learned growing up.
“’I’d think?’ You mean you aren’t spending every waking moment with him anymore?” It was said teasingly, and came with another smile shot over her shoulder. “Gotten over the honeymoon stage, then?” Setting aside the knife, she took the couple steps to close the distance between them, and reached up to tug on one of his perfectly-positioned blue spikes of hair. “Or maybe he got too tired of your excessive laziness with anything but hair care to keep dealing with you?”
Laughing, he caught the offending hand with one of his own, bringing the other up to tug on one of her many braids, all of which had been woven together with what was obviously painstaking care. “As if you happen to be one to talk.”
Spinning out of his grip, she mocked offense this time. “-I- am a girl, I’ll have you know. Girls are allowed to spend hours on their hair.” Foreseeing the argument he was about to put forth, probably literally since she was just as psychic as he, she added, “And no, having a boyfriend doesn’t earn you a special exception. Or at least not much of one.” Tail already slipping back to adjust the temperature on the stove, she turned back to pick up the onions and throw them into the simmering pan. “And besides, you know you like my hair like this.”
He couldn’t deny that. “It is very pretty, Ani.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at the praise. Placing a lid on the saucepan and setting it to a low, she finally took a minute to stop all the hustle and bustle, and just lean against the counter. “I did learn from the best, after all.”
After weighing the statement, and his sister’s smug face, he chose to say, “Sorry to undermine the latest in your myriad insults, but I take that as a compliment. Mainly because I learned from mom.” And it was true, every bit of his hair vanity had come from her. She’d loved taking a few hair clips and a bottle of hairspray into her hands, and coming out an hour later with some complex-but-beautiful style. Even now, she’d take any opportunity she could to have something done with it, often asking Kiani, and especially Laeli whenever he visited, to play with her hair as they talked. “She’s doing fine, I take it?”
“Mmhmm, just a bit on the tired side this week. Nothing out of the ordinary. You should bring dinner up to her though, because I’m sure she’d just love some alone time with you.” Letting loose a few giggles, she added, “And you can recount her with tales of Precocious. Which I’ve almost gotten her to call him herself, might I add~”
Rolling his eyes, he resisted the urge to comment. She had to get into a relationship at some point, and he would make her regret her behavior when that time came around. Until then, he would just have to content himself with playing the distraction card, and the sauce seemed as perfect a one as any, so he pointed at it, saying, “It’s going to burn if you leave it any longer, Ani.”
“You always say that, Li, and it always turns out just fine whenever I decide to take it off the burner.” Such a smug little sister. But, while she left the sauce, she had obviously reached her relaxing limit. Brother-teasing abandoned for the minute, she went back to starting dishwater, and pulling out a loaf of bread, and any other dinner work she could manage to simultaneously start. Where she got the energy, he would never know.
After a few minutes of silent observation, he tossed out, “So, when are you going to find yourself a boy that I can give ridiculous nicknames and tease you to death about?”
With a wink, her only response was, “As soon as you find someone that can keep up with me~” And as he watched her, with her tail dropping pasta into water he hadn’t even seen put up to boil, while one hand stirred a sauce that really did smell like perfection and the other pulled three plates out of the cabinet…
There was one thing he was pretty sure of as he walked over to drape himself over his sister, much to her insincere protests: His revenge would be a long time coming.
----------
Song: Edge of Desire Artist: John Mayer
The last night, there were no words.
They simply lay on one bed, both still in the dressings of their false positions. Lelouch had his head on the pillows, and Suzaku with his on the foot of the bed. It was as if they were some twisted human version of a yin yang, not quite matching, but still met up in some odd way. Emperor and knight. Killer and victim. Best friends and worst enemies.
And maybe the air was thick with words unspoken. Maybe the only reason they were both staring calmly at the ceiling was because if they tried to do anything else, anything at all, the world as either knew it would fall apart even more than it already had, to the point where it could never be repaired. Maybe there was anger. Maybe there was fear. And maybe there was bone-deep regret, of the kind that would swallow a lesser man whole.
But, these were not lesser men.
And so, they laid there. And they stared. And they counted the minutes, because they were quickly becoming much too few, and much too precious.
----------
Songs: Ungodly Hour and Goodbye Artist: The Fray and Secondhand Serenade, respectively
“…You have a place to go, yes?” He’d been keeping quiet for the last hour, giving Anna space to pack up her things, helping by grabbing things stashed away in other parts of the small apartment. Trying to stay supportive even as he could feel himself falling apart. But now all her bags were in the hallway, and she was about to leave, and he just… Well, the truth was he was speaking before he’d really even thought through the reason why.
She’d paused at the words, just a couple seconds, before she was back to stacking her last few bags outside the apartment. “Hannah offered to give me a room for a couple days, just until I could find a place of my own.” The words were quiet, measured, nothing like Anna. Even from where he was standing, ten or so feet away, he could see the slight shake of her hands. And oh, how he wished he could do anything that wouldn’t make it worse.
Pushing a ghost of his true grin onto his face for her benefit, he murmured as comfortingly as he could, “That’s good, I’m sure she’ll take care of you.” He realized belatedly that his feet had begun to carry him closer to her of their own volition, body aching to comfort her even as his mind knew that was impossible. So he stopped himself, and instead leaned against the wall as casually as he could manage. He even wrapped his arms around himself to keep them from any stray movement. And maybe to comfort himself just the tiniest bit as well.
A couple broken sounds that were probably supposed to be chuckles, and she responded, “You know I’ve never needed to be taken care of.”
His couple quiet laughs in response probably sounded only a shade more genuine. He managed to say, “So you keep saying. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying.”
He blinked as he realized his mistake only a minute later, false grin fading even more as he amended, “Would’ve stopped trying. Doesn’t mean I would’ve stopped…” Belial let the sentence trail off, too pained by the words to continue.
And obviously Anna was too, if her lack of response was any sign. She just continued to fiddle with her bags, slipping a lipstick into one pocket, a book into another, all the while her small hands just continuing to shake…
“I’ll send along anything that you’ve forgotten, so you don’t need to worry…” ‘About me,’ he wanted to add, but he wasn’t sure if that would make her feel better, or just hurt her more. But, the way she practically flinched at the phrase made him think that she’d caught his implications nonetheless.
But, all she said out loud was a quick, “Thank you.” Then, after one last assessment of her pile of bags, she added in an even quieter tone, “Well, that should be everything, then…” She wasn’t moving, though. Just standing, still as stone and facing the doorway. And she felt so – so broken…
“Anna…” Just that one word was all he let escape him. But, even to his ears, it sounded so miserable. And obviously to Anna as well, because her stone façade cracked in on itself, shoulders hunching in as she lost the battle with trying to stay composed. But, even then, she didn’t turn back to him at all, didn’t change her mind. That was how he knew she was firm in her choice, even as she was being torn apart by it. It reminded him of when he’d first met her, and some distant part of him that wasn’t crushed with despair respected that strength she’d never lose.
“I’m so – so sorry, Belial…” The whisper was thick with tears that were only barely restrained, and her pure sheer want for so many things – for the two of them to be able to stay together, for things to be fixable, for him to be normal, and even just for Belial himself – was slamming into him in waves. It was enough to drown in, so much that he practically couldn’t breathe.
But, he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let it end like this. And so, he closed the distance between them, and hugged her. Not one that was too tight, just the hug you’d give a friend that was going away. And he pushed that false grin onto his face, and he said, “Ssssh, don’t you worry about me, Anna. I’ll be fine, always am.” Not the truth, but the lie would be his last gift to her, something to lighten the heavy load of emotional baggage he was sending her away with already.
She just shook her head, and turned just enough to look him in the eye for the first time in their long exchange. Then, tears slipping down her face, she reached up and cradled his cheek lightly, meanwhile rising up on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “You take care of yourself, you hear me?” she whispered while still holding his face, voice so stern and fiercely protective for how choked up it was with tears. “And you never forget that even if I can’t be with you, I will always love you. No matter what.”
He wished he had the strength to say something back. But, it was all he could manage just to hold back on asking her to stay. If she could just stay… Eyes closing because he couldn’t manage to meet hers anymore, he brought his forehead down to rest against hers, just for a few seconds, and no more. One last comfort. Then he loosened his arms, stepped back. And he managed to give her one final smile to send her out the door.
And then she was gone, and he was left with only a heartbroken “Goodbye” and those last memories as he slid brokenly to the floor.
----------
Song: Sunshine Artist: The All-American Rejects
For reasons Luke couldn’t begin to understand, every inch always had to be a battle where Asch was involved.
“You have a hole through your chest, for Yulia’s sake! Can we just put off the whole, ‘You’re a dreck,’ ‘Yeah, well, you’re a jerk,’ thing until after I’ve put some bandages on it?” Face a portrait of exasperation, he added, “Then you can go ahead and insult me to your heart’s content.”
But still, the sword didn’t lower.
Luke’s only response was to cross his arms and give the stubborn man a sour look, all-too-ready to be petulant back. If Luke was good at anything, it was being petulant. Especially when he was annoyed. “Is this about me being your replica? Because I get it, you’re the real Luke, and I’m just a failure of a stand-in, so—“
“I am not Luke! Not anymore!” Luke was pretty sure Asch was trying to scare him into shutting up, but the tired slur his words had gained, probably earned through pointless blood loss over the last few minutes, miraculously underscored any inklings of fear.
Trying for patience, something Luke definitely didn’t possess, he tried to stay calm as he said, “Okay, fine, not Luke. Whatever.” Cocking a hip, he aimed a why are you so stupid look at Asch. “Honestly, I don’t care if you want to call yourself Dirt at the moment, so long as you just let me take care of that injury.”
For a minute, he almost thought that Asch was going to continue on in his pointless battle of who-can-be-more-persistent-even-though-I’m-the-only-one-bleeding-all-over-the-snow. But then, the sword slowly started to come down. Luke wasn’t sure if Asch actually wanted it to or not, but it was enough of an opening that he decided to take it.
The only thanks he got, as he slipped an arm around Asch’s back and started to help him move towards the nearest hotel, was a begrudging, “Stupid replica…”
He’d found himself smiling just the smallest bit in response. Some things never changed.
----------
Song: Irvine Artist: Kelly Clarkson
Pheia’d tried to end it all once.
It wasn’t as bad as it sounded, all violent and overdramatic. He had been seven, and hadn’t even understood the idea of things coming to an end. But he’d been at home alone again, for the god-knows-what-th day. And he had been sad. And it hurt.
Now, he’d known the cold made you numb. Not that he knew what numb meant either. Just knew that it took the feelings away. Made it like his fingers weren’t there, or his nose, or his ears. And so, his childish mind concluded, it could eventually make it be the same way with his heart. And even though he knew cold could do bad things when it made you numb, he didn’t understand that an end was forever.
And so, he’d reached up and pulled open the back door to his small house. His little ears cringed back the moment the cold air hit his face, and he was tempted to do the same. But, as nice as the heat was, it didn’t help with the hurt. So, he’d pulled on his beaten pair of little-kid sneakers and his threadbare jacket, and trudged outside. Sank to the ground. And then laid back, and just… stared. Stared at the sky, and its cloudy greyness.
The shivers started to overtake him after only a couple minutes. One second he’d be fine, and then the next he’d be shaking like crazy. He could feel the water starting to seep through his jeans, and soak into his hair. More like liquid ice, because it was so cold. But that’s what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? Cold, to numb everything away…
He’d held onto that thought to keep himself out there, down in the snow. Couldn’t quite keep himself from turning onto his side and curling into a ball, but it didn’t make much difference anyway, past to get some control over the shivers. And it was more comforting that way, like he was just taking a nap in the cold.
It felt even more like that a few minutes later. The shivers had mostly gone away, which was good. Made it even more easy to stay out there. And besides, he couldn’t even feel his feet and hands move anymore. That was a good sign, right? If he could just stay out there a little longer, just get a little bit colder, then maybe…
But, see, the other side to being a kid is that you don’t have a very strong will. Or, at least Phe didn’t, because around the time when his face was beyond the tingling stage, his body had started to ache from the cold. Ache all over, especially when the more and more infrequent shivers had racked his body. Damned if he didn’t want to reach that all-over numbness, but the cold hurt him. He didn’t realize that would happen. And even though the pain in his heart hurt him more, he couldn’t do anything about that. He’d ended up in a kid’s version of a battle of wills, and he’d never had a very strong will.
Mental battle lost, he’d ended up abandoning his plans in favor of crawling back inside. Even as he went, he was already crying. So weak, so pathetic. And so alone. He’d wished he was stronger back then, that he could’ve just made it through those last few minutes or so where he’d black out into a lack of feeling.
And even now, he sometimes still wished the exact same thing.
----------
Song: All We Ever Do is Say Goodbye Artist: John Mayer
“I… don’t think this is going to work out.”
---
“It’s just… some time apart, mmkay? I just need some space…”
---
“GET OUT!”
---
“If you didn’t love me, all you had to do is say so.”
---
“If you won’t leave, then I will!”
---
“…I’m sorry, Belial.”
----------
Song: Absolutely Zero Artist: Jason Mraz
Balance the percentage that Milly had promised to the Equine Club with the dollars that could be skimmed off the top of the Newspaper Committee’s budget, and then carry over what’s left into the stored money for the festival that hadn’t been planned yet, but was bound to occur…
Sighing, Lelouch lifted pen from paper to tap it against his lip thoughtfully. The numbers just weren’t coming out as they should. A problem with his math, maybe? Or perhaps he had made a mistake in copying down the principal amounts? Setting the writing utensil to the side with parallel precision in relation to the paper he’d been making notes on, he began flipping through pages in the book sitting at his side, checking various accounting records made by the Student Council over the last year.
After a few minutes of flipping, he found his answer. In copying over the spending for the last council party, he’d incidentally slid the decimal point over an extra place, adding an extra zero into the dollar total instead of having it in the change where it belonged.
A zero. Of course that would be the culprit, the cause of his mathematical issues. As he lifted his pen once again to write out his mistake, he couldn’t resist letting out a couple silent chuckles at the coincidence. Zero, bested by a zero.
But, the humor was quick to drain from his face as his mind began to wander, fingers tallying up new totals and carrying new numbers of their own accord. It really was ridiculous for him to be bested at zeroes. He’d become the master of them, and not just in title. His life was made up of zeroes now, almost as if giving himself the name had been some kind of twisted curse. Zero homework assignments turned in since he began his work with the Black Knights. Zero food eaten in at least a day now, because there just hadn’t been time. Zero words exchanged with Nunnally in days, because he’d been home after she was asleep and out the door before she’d even woken up. Zero sleep, zero time, zero personal space.
Zero honesty.
Zero real friends.
Almost as if mocking him, the balance sheet he’d been working through now balanced perfectly evenly. With not a cent extra or lacking, the total to be written in at the bottom was… Drawing in the number that seemed to define is life now, he couldn’t hold back a second wave of dark humor. This time, the chuckles left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Zero he was indeed.
----------
Song: Another Lesson in Love Artist: Danger Radio
3:21 in the afternoon. That made it, what, 5:21am in China? Daiyu let his head slip down to the kitchen table, eyes closing as he tried to damp down the urge to just call anyway. It wasn’t like anyone in his home would fault him for it. But, he also had no respectable reason for the early call…
Bringing the hand currently cradling the phone up to table level, he pressed a side button on it to light up the display. He’d had the phone in his hand for the last hour, just counting the minutes. And, sure enough, when he tilted his head to the side just enough to see the screen, it read 3:22. Only one more minute had passed. Groaning, he set the phone down on the table for a moment, and rested his arms on the table too. Wished time would speed up already.
He didn’t know what had brought it on this time. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t worked a job in the last week or so. Or that he hadn’t had anyone over to the apartment. Or maybe it was the detour through Chinatown that he’d taken on the way home a couple weeks back finally catching up with him. Whatever the reason, he just felt… needy. It was a recurrent thing, something he’d had ever since he was a kid. One minute, he’d be playing with his ball in the garden, and the next he’d be feeling like he couldn’t breathe, and running off to find his parents. His mom’d used to tease him, saying in her delicate voice, “Your heart’s just too big for your head to handle sometimes, right my little cub?”
But, it was one thing to be that way when you were a kid. It was an entirely different thing to handle as an adult. Blindly reaching for the phone again, he pulled it into the sanctuary of darkness he’d created on the table between his arms and head. 3:26. Still too early. Daiyu released a little whine in protest, happy there was nobody around to hear it. And also unhappy, because he was just killing for company.
But, he didn’t want to play the dance-around-the-truth game he had to play with all of the normal friends he’d made over the last few months. Hiding a tail was tricky business when you were just killing for a hug. And those that did know probably wouldn’t be in the mood to deal with him when he was like this…
3:28. He hit the phone into the table once, in a display that he would openly admit was childish. Really, what he needed now was the people that would just understand. Most of the time, his family felt practically stifling with all their doting. That was why he’d struck out on his own, only letting his parents pay for the roof over his head, and making the rest of the way himself. But now, he just needed a little bit of that coddling – just a few minutes. His mom would know just what to say, and he’d feel a little better just hearing her voice, and then everything would be better.
Sure that it’d been at least a minute, he slid the abused phone back into his arm-cave. And was startled a second later when it started to ring right in his face just before he’d checked the time. Ears and mind all out of whack from the surprise, it took him a couple seconds to register that he should probably consider actually answering it. And then another couple seconds to get over the surprise of who the caller ID said was on the other line. Hitting the button to pick it up with an expression that was somewhere between incredulous and hopeful, he answered with a small, “Hello?”
“Hello, my little cub,” rang through the phone in Chinese, with the same delicate voice that he knew almost as well as his own. It made him almost tear up, he was so happy to hear it.
“Hey, mom,” he responded, slipping with ease into Chinese as well.
“I hadn’t heard from you in a few days, and wanted to know if something was wrong. And it obviously is, so you tell your mom what it is and what I can do to fix it before I force it out of you.” How moms always knew these things, he’d never know. But he was too grateful for it right now to question it.
Already feeling a bit better, he slipped back to lounge more comfortably in his chair. And couldn’t help the grin that was already slowly starting to return to his face as he worked out a gracious, “Thanks, mom,” even as he thanked the universe that even if he lost everything else, he’d always have a family who loved him to fall back on for support.
----------
Song: I’ll Be Artist: Edwin McCain
Every person that was magic by nature had an element they were tied to. It wasn’t something that they could choose, but something that was a part of them, just as much as the color of their skin or shape of their face. And, if they were properly trained, there came a point where person and element just – snap – clicked into place.
Jayris’ hadn’t been as… conventional as most. In normal cases, it took even an adept mage a few months of training to find their element and take control of it. He’d been just three years old and in the bathtub, and had smacked a hand into the water because he’d really wanted it to go up in the air. Needless to say, his nanny had been more than a little startled when she’d walked into the bath chamber to find little droplets of water floating in midair, just because a toddler had willed it so.
Then again, the emerald eyes should’ve given her more than fair warning.
That aside, maybe it was because of the ease he’d had with finding his own element, or maybe he lacked patience. Or, for that matter, maybe his charge was to blame. Not through any fault of his own, because Kaiden was a good young man, well-mannered and kindhearted for his age. Maybe he just lacked the natural talent, or had no head for sensing the world around him. But, whatever the reason, Jayris just couldn’t seem to get the Fendraen prince to come into his own.
Much as he favored the boy, Jayris had been about at his wit’s end when he dragged him out to the training meadow on this particular day. Though given the duty to protect the royal heir, he’d also been setting aside time every week to practice with magic, trying to give Kaiden something to protect himself with as well. For all his effort, all the youngest Efendra had accomplished was parlor tricks and entry-level magicks. It was the work of any duddard with half an ounce of power. This boy had the brightest turquoise that he had ever seen, for Vyrne’s sake, as close to green as you could get while still having some royal blue…
The little prince seemed to pick up on his frustration, because he’d been practically silent throughout the lesson. When he finally did speak, it was in a voice as hesitant as it could possibly be. “Could I… ask you a question, Jay?”
A “hm” was his only response, leaving the boy to make of it what he would. Apparently he took it as an acquiescence, because he continued on, voice still drowned in hesitance.
“Can the element you first connect with…” The wind picked up for a minute, making him pause as he waited for it to pass. Then, after a deep breath, he said all in a rush, “Can it ever be wrong? Like a mistake, and all along you were truly meant for another element?”
Jayris had to restrain himself from scoffing at the ridiculous notion. He covered by taking a moment instead to lift his hood, hiding away the fox-ish ears which had begun to twitch in the erratic wind. Not that anyone could see them with the magicks he had placed on them, but the movement was distracting nonetheless. His voice still betrayed a bit of his exasperation as he said, “Of course not. At least, never that I’ve heard of.”
“Oh…” For reasons the Vyrne’astan couldn’t even begin to fathom, Kaiden sounded so depressed when he said that one word. It made him feel guilty for being so harsh in his answer, especially to the one who held his affections more than anyone else in this country.
“Well, that’s not to say that there haven’t been mages who learn to get control of multiple elements.” The little prince seemed very interested in the words, turning to look at him as if begging him to continue. But he visibly deflated by halfway through the next sentence. “It’s the work of lifetimes though, something that they devote countless years to accomplishing. Every one I’ve seen is in the late stages of life.” By now, it would be an understatement to say he was confused by the young man’s avid interest in what he was saying. “Kaid, much as I don’t mean to offend, a year hasn’t even afforded you one element yet, so I don’t really see why you…”
And that’s when he noticed it. He’d been staring out at the edge of the field while he spoke, because it had felt like something was off. And, as the wind was almost pulling at his hood hard enough to pull it off, he’d just realized that not a single branch was moving in the trees around them. Meaning that either a very strong earth mage was playing with the trees, or…
One glance at the Fendraen prince was all he’d needed to answer his question. He was staring right back at him, albeit rather embarrassedly. And in his hand, a small bit of dirt was spinning in midair, as if caught in the most miniature of tornadoes he’d ever seen. “…My father, he really wanted me to have a stronger element, and… Well, I’d just hoped that maybe, if I tried hard enough…”
But, Jayris just waved the words off, already on his feet and leaning closer to the miniature show. With a quiet sort of awe, he said, “Oh, Kaid, your element is perfect as it is.” And it was the truth. In his country, air mages were highly valued. There were very few that the air blessed with its skills, you see, and there was so much that they could do, like control the weather and send messages across countries with a wave of the hand. Always a match to a peaceful soul, he remembered, and one who was kind by nature, but also wise in their kindness. He should’ve seen it from the beginning. And if the king didn’t think it was a blessing, then he more a fool than Jayris had initially thought.
Caught up in the moment, he reached down and lifted his charge up, spinning him a couple times in his excitement. “Perfection, Kaiden.” Smiling as he felt the wind swirl around them for a moment after he’d set the young prince down, he looked straight into his eyes and repeated with true sincerity and no small measure of excitement, “Perfection.”
And Kaiden had just given him the most beautiful of smiles in return, caught somewhere between shyness and pride. And then he’d reached up and, with a wave of his hand, blown the heavy hood right off of Jayris’ head. “You look better without it anyway,” he’d said teasingly, and then reached up to tug on one of the ears that Jayris had paid such a high price to make invisible.
So much for the idea of him having no natural magic talent.
And then, while Jayris was still stunned into stillness by the myriad surprises that he’d had in the last minute, Kaiden just laughed and started to run off, wind following at his heels. So carefree, but still kind enough to hide away his own magic, and smart enough to keep the secret of his guard…
It was enough to bring Jayris back to himself, already feeling his affection swell to a dangerous level as he made to catch up to the little prince. And it was no wonder that Jayris never thought to wander again in the years that followed.
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Song: Come Home Artist: OneRepublic
“Hey.” The small word was infused with affection as Belial mumbled it at the tombstone. After brushing a couple leaves off the small stone, he settled down to sit in front of it. Same as usual.
“So, where shall I begin, hm? I can’t remember what I’ve told you lately…” Taking a moment to settle in, he slipped one leg under the other, wrapping an arm around them to keep himself propped up. It’d been months since he’d come to visit the cemetery, too busy doing this and that. Grinning a bit at his unintended pun, he picked up the one-sided conversation once again. “Well, Mia and I had one of our obligatory fallings-out again. I won’t bore you with the repetitive details, but suffice to say it centered on the typical differences between my lifestyle and hers.”
A quiet sigh, and then he added, “I wish she could just understand sometimes, you know? Not that I make it easy, walking into her apartment…” Trailing off embarrassedly, he continued after a short pause, “Well, you know. I do my best to take care of myself like you ask me, but every once in a while…”
He took a minute then, mainly to let his own self-imposed awkwardness subside. Took in a couple breaths of the autumn air, and slipped back to lie on the grass. It was so cold that it practically crackled under him, nowhere near the feeling of a comfortable blanket that it provided in warmer months. But, it sufficed enough. Not bothering to get back up, he decided it was time to continue. “You know,” he started, taking a second before continuing as if to gauge his invisible companion’s mood, “…I think I might just be fashioned to be alone.”
Raising a hand as if to ward off the beginnings of an argument immediately after the words left his mouth, he quickly went on, “I know, I know, you’d disagree with me in a heartbeat. Fight me tooth-and-nail about that conclusion. But really, Anna, let us face the facts, shall we?” Sitting up just enough to look at the stone in front of him, he raised a hand, and ticked off the first finger. “One, I live off of lust. And while I may have romantic ideas about it, it doesn’t make for the foundations of a steady relationship.” In a more subdued voice, he added, “As the two of us found out the hard way.”
Another finger ticked up. “Two, I don’t age. I don’t change. I’m timeless, and how could that ever work out with someone in the long run?” His grin as he went on had been fading, but it made a momentary comeback, albeit a bittersweet one as he added, “You know, I don’t even know if I can die. I couldn’t even promise to pass on at the same time as the person I loved.
“Three, as you so astutely pointed out to me once,” he said as he brought up the third finger, “is that I don’t exist on paper. I have no social security number, no ID, no birth certificate. I could never legally marry someone, would have a hard time finding a job in this day and age to support them…” Belial took a moment to run the numbered hand through his hair as he laughed rather joylessly. “It would be like I didn’t exist.
“And that’s just the beginning, Anna.” Giving up the process of counting, he fought to keep his voice pleasant as he continued. “For instance, I’d have to be around whoever chose to be with me all the time, and who wants no free space? And the energy toll would be demanding, either on the person themselves, or on their trust as I spent nights trolling through clubs just to get enough residual energy to keep moving.” He’d taken to picking at bits of grass as he went on. “And if I didn’t get enough energy, became more lethargic as a result, then I would just be making them feel guilty for something that isn’t their fault…”
Belial recognized the familiar feeling of reality starting to close in around the edges to overwhelm him, so he let himself trail off. Took a couple breaths, and just sat in the silence for a bit. Then, grin already rebounding on his face, he added, “See? You can’t have arguments against all of those.” It was said in such a way that it was almost a question, or maybe a challenge. They were words that demanded a response.
But, as happens when talking to someone that’s gone, none came. It was just Belial, and a stone marker, and the leaves twisting in the wind. It made reality close in just a few inches more, and for just a minute, the sadness he kept locked deep down inside him spilled over. What he wouldn’t give to just get a response from her. Just to talk to her for a few minutes…
Gone was the false grin, because he was now too busy practically fighting back tears. He found himself saying, quietly but almost desperately, “God, I miss just talking to you like this. Just miss you in general. I hope you know that.”
The wind picked up for a second, and he pretended that maybe she was the cause, that maybe it was her responding in kind…
And then the grin was back, and he was standing back up. Cap tightly on his darker emotions, he’d returned to being the same carefree Belial he always strived to be. With a little, “Oh, almost forgot,” he pulled some carnations out of his back, and set them down on top of the stone. Gave it one more affectionate caress, on behalf of the person it represented.
Then, with the promise of returning again soon, he was off.
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Song: The Lake Artist: Aqualung
“Become the savior who freed the world from its enemy, the emperor, Lelouch vi Britannia…” Gesturing at the mask, Lelouch concluded, “…Zero.” The irony of the statement didn’t escape Suzaku, but he didn’t see the need to point it out. There were a number of other things he was tempted to say instead, but the false king’s next move startled them all out of his mind.
Reaching forward with lightning speed, something that Suzaku had never known Lelouch to possess, he slid a hand along his cheek, cupped his face lightly. Suzaku could feel his eyes widening of their own accord even as words tumbled from the false king’s mouth. “You will be a wonderful Zero, Suzaku, so much better than I ever was…”
And even though the words carried a tone of nothing but acceptance, Suzaku thought that if he looked close enough, he could almost see the seeds of something shining through the edges of Lelouch’s violet irises. His own eyes narrowing, he scanned Lelouch’s face, determined to catch the elusive emotion that he was sure he couldn’t have simply imagined.
But, as quickly as the break in ranks occurred, it was over. The hand was falling away, and Lelouch was leaving the room. And Suzaku was left with nothing but a Zero mask in his hands, and the feeling that something profound had just slipped through his fingers.
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Post by Hawk on Mar 26, 2010 21:01:26 GMT -6
Song: She Goes All The Way Artist: Rascal Flatts (Feat. Jamie Foxx)
Anna had some magic about her in Belial’s recollections. She was like a god, urethral, encased in a translucent shield of white light in every memory he pulled from his mind. Maybe it was a product of his unique perspective of lust. But, he had never noticed it until after she was long gone. No matter what its nature, it wrapped around her like a blanket, warming her image just as she warmed his heart. Or had, once upon a time.
He remembered the glow resting on the strands of her hair as he brushed it behind her ear. He remembered it adding a special glimmer to her eyes when she looked in his direction. That glow made her seem like an angel as he remembered the night they had met. Swaying slowly in the arms of some stranger, her evening gown had lit up the room with its pure whiteness. She’d had a feel about her too, something different from most of the others that drew his attention. She was needy, but had a strength and confidence to her that surrounded her with a feeling of… Well, ‘beauty’ was the closest descriptor he could come up with, but it wasn’t in any way accurate. It was as if she above the carnal desires Belial relied on to exist, but simultaneously at home with the fact that she still had them. He’d watched her from his place at the piano, eyes returning to her unique aura over and over again as his fingers danced their way from one tune to the next.
A stare like that wasn’t something easily missed, and it apparently didn’t take her long to notice his gaze. He’d though he was being discreet, but she had just walked right up to him before an hour had passed. Her words were quiet and she hesitated a moment before speaking them, but they were suffused with the inner strength he would soon learn to expect her to bring to everything she did. And the hand on her cocked hip was anything but demure.
“So, are you going to ask me for a dance, or are you going to leave it to a girl to do the asking herself?”
It was a forward question, but coupled with such an openly amused grin that he couldn’t help but come back with a smile of his own, barely restraining himself from releasing a few surprised chuckles. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Relinquishing his place at the stool to the piano player they had on payroll for the night, he extended a hand to her, winking as he added, “Is ‘May I have this dance?’ an appropriate question, given your prodding, or should I be giving an apology first?”
Her grin widened to match his smile at the response, eyes twinkling as she slipped her hand into his. “Why don’t we dance now, and decide what apologies are necessary afterwards. After all, if you have two left feet, you may owe me more than just the one.” Already pulling him down from his place on the short piano stage and onto the open floor, she continued, “And one question is hardly prodding. You were just waiting for an excuse to ask me, admit it.”
“Well, I certainly won’t deny it.”
They both laughed at that, and before another word was spoken, the true pianist was back at work and any possibility of further conversation was drowned out by the band, which was only seconds behind. Before Belial knew it, they were slipping in and out of each other’s arms to the beat of one tune after the next.
Even then, he could say with a fair amount of certainty when looking back, he’d been taken in. Her attitude, and her beauty, both inside and out, were enough to have spelled possible doom, but not with any certainty. But her natural grace on the dance floor, the few whispered comments made when they were pulled closer that were so straightforward they couldn’t possibly be anything but honest, her confident but conscientious carriage… By the time the fourth dance was through, he’d had eyes for only her out of the entire room. It had been a lifetime since he’d met a woman so… Perfect was so painfully ironic given the context, but that was what she’d seemed at the time.
It was no small wonder that he’d insisted on walking her home, and on courting her persistently from that moment on. The only wonder was that she’d returned his ardent interest for a few truly amazing years, before reality closed in as it always did. And heartbreakingly so in this particular instance. So much so that every time he saw a woman spin in a white dress, or heard a particularly pulling strain of piano playing, or a million other otherwise insignificant everyday occurrences, he could still feel the deep mark she left on his heart.
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Post by Hawk on Apr 1, 2010 1:29:00 GMT -6
[[This is pretty much for Niku, so nobody really has to pay any mind to it or understand it but him. Because it's important. Even if it feels effing weird to put it where other people can see it.]]
Song: Beautiful Mess Artist: Jason Mraz
It had been a stupid idea to start. Honestly. Balancing the pencil in his hand between a couple fingers, Pheia seriously considered just throwing it at the wall, crumpling the piece of paper in front of him, and screwing the entire thing. Could feel his lips almost quirk upwards at the mental image of the pencil snapping in half at the impact.
Except, he couldn’t.
On all counts, he couldn’t. He couldn’t throw away the pencil, couldn’t give up on what he’d finally worked up the nerve to start. Couldn’t even work a real grin onto his face. Not when his ears were plastered to the top of his head, and he felt like moths were eating their way through his stomach every time he touched lead to paper. Deep maroon eyes snapped down to the notebook sitting in his lap, opened to a page filled with nothing but empty space and blue lines. And one written line:
Dear Nikua
A few more seconds of staring at it, and the pencil was slipping up to the one line, and then emphatically crossing it out. The moths felt even more vicious when he looked at the two words. They were so formal, so… cold. Phe winced at the thought, forcing a hand through his bangs, and subsequently shielding his eyes from the failed page as he used his other hand to rip it out. All wrong. He wanted to be honest. And, more importantly, he wanted the words that poured out onto the page to be himself. Needed them to be, if this was to do what he needed it to.
A couple deep breaths, and he was touching paper to pencil once again. His hand was shaking so much he almost didn’t think he’d be able to manage writing anything, and so was surprised to see the ‘Niku’ he wrote as his new start to look so steady, all straight lines and even curves. Every line was darker than usual, practically etched into the paper by how hard he was pushing down on the pencil, but the lack of noticeable panic in his writing, and the introduction that felt so much more natural, they made it an excusable slip in his mind. At least he felt like he could manage to keep going this time. Keep writing this letter, which seemed so old-fashioned, but was the only way he could think of to get out all he needed to say without somehow spinning off into some tangent about nothing, or starting a fight about anything but what’s important, or a billion other unimportant things. He needed to say what mattered, to the person that mattered. Before it just kept getting later and later than too late.
Niku,
One more steadying breath, and then he was working his way onwards.
Writing this feels so dumb, but it’s all I can think of to do. There’s so much I need to say to you, I don’t even know where to start.
See, there’s so many things you don’t know about me. So many things I can’t find the appropriate time, or the energy, or even the courage to say. God, I’m such a coward, have been all my life. I’ve never told you about my family, or lack thereof. I’ve never told you about how I never finished high school. I’ve never talked about my job, or how I’ve never really had a friend but have kissed so many people I can’t even count them, or about how I’m to the point where I almost can’t drink, because it brings me to such a horrible place that I…
I mean, god. Do you ever sit and realize how much you don’t know about me? Because I think about it. I think about it practically every day. And it scares me. Because I feel like there’s this Pheia that you love, and then there’s me. And I’m… Well, I’m not sure if that Pheia and me are the same. And it scares me so, so much.
Pheia paused for a moment, thought his writing was becoming illegible until he realized that it was tears that were distorting his vision. Before he’d even really decided to start again, more words were curling themselves onto the page.
Because, you see, it’s true that I don’t know that I love you. And I don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand the depth of… of guilt that I feel about that. Shit, it kills me. But, you… Niku, I may never be able to tell you I love you and mean it, but you make me feel normal. Hell, you were the first one to make me feel, period. And while that may sound trivial to someone so normal and, and right like you, I need you to believe me when I say it just isn’t.
So, yeah, I may not know that I love you, but I want you to know that I wish to god that I did. I wish I wasn’t so fucked up, I wish my parents had ever spared me a moment's time and I wish I hadn't become such a horrible ghost of a person because they never did, and I wish I’d met you before I’d gotten to such a dark place, and a million other things, but the love wish trumps out all the others right now. Because I’m so tired of giving you nothing but hurt after all you’ve given me. It keeps me up at night just thinking about it, because it seems like every time I get a leg up, get a little better, I’m just tearing you down to do it.
I don’t want it to be like that. Would leave you, if I thought I could. If I hadn’t tried before. If I didn’t know it would kill you even more, and I somehow can’t bear to do that, even if I know it’d be for the best. We seem to be tangled together, for worse more than for better, but irreversibly so.
So, I guess that’s why I’m writing this. Because I’ve somehow got us to the point where we’re afraid to talk, about anything. Or about everything that matters, I guess. But if I didn’t get this out, I felt like I might choke on all of this shit that I’ve been dancing around and keeping from you and trying not to think about.
…I miss talking to you, you know. Really talking to you. Another thing I wish I hadn’t ruined.
He was stifling sobbing breaths by now, so worn by the words cutting themselves onto the piece of paper that he felt rubbed raw. He struggled to try and find the words to wrap up what had become a mess of disconnected thoughts, afraid that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Anyway, I don’t even know what I was trying to say here, but I think I’ve said it by now. Sorry to put such a burden on you. Sorry I’m such a burden, period. And sorry for so much more than you’ll ever know, or I’ll ever be able to apologize for.
And, in the only reprieve in such a pained and painful letter, he signed it almost absently in the only way that fit, the one kind truth in a sea of hard ones.
Yours, Pheia
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Post by Hawk on Jun 26, 2010 1:34:31 GMT -6
Song: Georgia on My Mind Artist: Ray Charles
The piano was a magical thing. Or, at least, it had its own form of magic, in Belial’s opinion.
Elegant fingers reached out toward the keys of the grand, then froze just as they touched them, and only for the space of a breath – just enough for a slow inhale, steady exhale – before they slid along the broken surface silently.
“…You sure you’re up to that?” came a hesitant voice from the bar, one of his fellow servers, and the only other one left in the building, helping to close it up for his last night. “You haven’t-” She faltered, and he could hear the crack in her voice just as he could feel the crack in his heart. And she apparently could feel it at least a little bit too. Always had been sympathetic, that one. “I mean, since… Well, you know.”
And he did. But he let the grin that had become almost a first nature by now push his lips upward nonetheless. “Yes, you’re right,” he replied, his voice subdued. “But, every mistress deserves a fond farewell. And since I’ve poured a fair piece of my heart into this piano, it seems only fair…”
Silence reigned for a few seconds, filled only with the clinking of glasses against one another. The girl broke it with only one sentence, quiet, but thick with the sadness she must’ve felt rolling off of him in waves, “Do make it a fond one then, will you?” He heard, rather than saw, a couple coins clink against the empty glass of the jar placed on the piano, would've applauded her coin-tossing skills if he wasn't so absorbed by the task at hand. A final request of the lounge’s informal pianist, made formal.
He could only nod, silently sifting through songs mentally. Songs tied to memories, songs tied to feelings, songs that traced the history of his time in this place. And, when he’d finally found one that was to his liking, one that would match the well-meaning girl’s request, hands shifted to the proper position, fingers pressed down on keys…
And then the magic there and alive, just as much as he was. He was touching music, touching an idea with caressing fingers, and making out of it whatever he would. And it was making him into something as well, transforming him as the notes bled into him, working their way through his tired soul. The music controlled him just as much as he was controlled it.
He would often find himself swallowed him up into the pain of a diminished chord, stabbed by minor keys and accidentals. Brief respites rose in the form of short dalliances with major keys, but one odd sharp, and he would be thrown back into melancholy. Major triads would conversely fill him with a light cheer, and the dance of his fingers across the keys during a playful tune would make him feel what he imagined it was like to be childish.
Today he’d picked an old favorite, one that had recently hit the radios. It was by one of the kids that had stopped into the lounge years ago, just an upstart at the time. His fingers played along the keyboard in a mockery of playful, nimble but with a heaviness that bespoke strong emotion. Belial began to hum along to the tune, shifting naturally into words as the other bartender joined in, her low voice lending a wavering harmony his own.
And wasn’t it the perfect choice, he thought as the subdued melody wove its way around him, enclosing him in a web of dual affection and loneliness. To the girl, it may play as a love song, so sweet and low. She had a pure heart to her, one untouched by loss. But, he could hear the break of the Charles boy’s voice in his mind as he pictured another name in place of the one that was being said, saw the back of the lover that had walked away from him, but had never been forgotten, never would be–
A slipped finger and one wrong note jarred him out of his thoughts, and he realized the female voice had dropped out of his song. And so had the magic, he realized in heart-dropping surprise. Even as his fingers continued to hit the right keys, one after another, he didn’t feel the caress of any of them. It was as if the heart had dropped out of the song, and all that was left was mechanics. It was just robotics, mathematics, something suddenly so foreign to Belial that he didn’t know what to make of it. Not one to cut a goodbye short, he worked his way to the end, one key after another, counting beats he’d never had to keep track of even as he felt his heart breaking with every chord he had to process, every key change he had to take into account, all in place of what had once been as natural as breathing.
The final notes should have left him feeling light, like he had floated back into his seat. Instead, each one hit into him, played overly hard in his hurry to be done. And the minute it was over, he lifted hands from the keys as if he’d been burned. He couldn’t help but stare down at the sea of black and white, a feeling of betrayal that he’d never allowed himself to direct at a person rising inside him inexplicably as he thought of empty notes and measured beats.
A hand fell on his shoulder then; a light touch at first, and then fingers squeezing in a try at comforting. A handkerchief was slipped into one of his hands, and he both was and wasn’t surprised to feel tears sliding down his cheeks. “Oh, Bel,” she murmured, slipping down to sit next to him on the bench. It was such a relief to him, in an odd, unexplainable way, to feel the platonic care she had for him, entirely lacking in any romantic energy as she gave him a quick hug, and whispered, “I wish we could make it better for you. Don’t you forget about us when you get lonely, okay?”
A broken whisper of, “Okay,” was all he could manage in return. That and the grin, a flawless thing, even through the tears.
It made the girl give him a face as she stood back up, and had her palming a hand against his cheek. “You don’t need to give me the ‘customer grin’ either, you know. Save that for when you stop by in the next couple days. You’ll be stopping by, won’t you?” she asked in an almost rhetorical way, going back to cleaning the galsses that were left.
He just nodded in return, a silent lie made out of kindness. Because he knew when he left tonight, he wouldn’t be coming back to this bar. Not for a long time. And as he looked at the piano, and felt his heart drop just thinking of the dry, unfeeling thing music had turned into under his hand…
It was with a heavy heart that he resolved his farewell to music would have to last for a while as well.
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Song: Heartbreak Warfare Artist: John Mayer
It was odd how late nights could bring out the worst of thoughts. Or maybe they were just suppressed ones, Pheia mused as he stared absently out the window. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been leaning there, face against the cold glass, just looking out at the darkness. Long enough to lose count of the number of cars whose headlights made his eyes sting. Long enough to see all the lights in the windows around him go out, until there were none left. Long enough in fact that a car hadn’t even driven past in god knows how long. Not that he’d really been giving any of it all that much of his attention.
No, his attention was directed inside. Because, much as he could bury his thoughts under distraction after distraction in the daytime, night always seemed to pull all of the things he gave his all to avoid into glaring focus. Things like, for example, the fact that the nearer it drew to spring, the more dread he felt, because he knew that March 16th would never disappear from the calendar, nor would it ever be a day he’d be willing to celebrate. Or the way that he eyed a bottle of alcohol with much more interest now than he ever had back when he’d drank like a fucking fish. Or the way he could feel his heart start to tighten until he almost couldn’t breathe whenever he was walking through a store, and happened to glimpse a collection of reds and pinks that marked it as the Valentine’s section.
Or – and this was the worst of all – the nagging truth that even as he’d done so much growing up in the last year, he hadn’t really ever felt like he’d been growing happier.
A sigh escaped his lips, fogging the glass that Pheia was staring out of unseeingly. And wasn’t that the truth of it, he thought. He wasn’t happy. Not an uncommon state of being for him. It was really the only one he’d ever known, actually. But he hadn’t really been conscious of it back when he’d been drowning himself in liquor and sex and god knows what else.
Now, he was. And it hurt. And, more important than that – infinitely more important than that – was the fact that he’d never pulled anyone else along for the ride. He’d never tied his miserable self to anyone else. Always kept people at arm’s length emotionally, even as he let them do whatever they wanted to him. But now…
Well, now he’d fucked up. Even as the thought flit unbidden through his mind, he felt his tail erratically twitch in discomfort. Didn’t seem…right to phrase it that way, but that’s all he could think as he watched raindrops start to slide in and out of his view, a sign of the rain that had just started to fall in the darkness. He’d tied himself to someone, and now instead of being just being pulled out of the gloom, the whole torturous ride up and out had become a two-seater.
Not that he knew for sure. God, he’d kill himself before ever letting the other man know that this was what he thought about in his darkest hours. But Phe knew that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. And he knew, without a doubt, that the Ninetails had to want more. Revisiting that knowledge was enough to get his ears dipping minutely as the thought raked against his mind in passing. He wasn’t daft enough to even bother to try and convince himself that there was any possibility that it wasn’t the absolute truth. Who in hell would want to have a ghost of a boyfriend in place of the real thing? A little self-depreciating smirk breaking onto his face of its own accord, he found himself thinking over their interactions over the last year or so: more fights than fun; his laughable attempt at trying to pretend he had any idea what love was, only to stab right into Niku’s heart by telling him he had to take it all back; all the innocent statements that he’d just had to take too seriously, escalate into fights that even he didn’t understand, but was somehow unable to stop being the driving force behind…
Every memory seemed to taunt him, making of his efforts nothing but failures. They said, ‘God, who are you trying to kid?’
Sighing enough that it made his body slump with the effort of it, he let his head slide down the now-damp glass, and hit against the frame. The headache it gave him was a welcome relief from everything else he was feeling. A hand had begun to reach out, subconsciously searching for a bottle that he no longer kept by his bedside – or anywhere in the room for that matter – and he clenched it into a fist the minute he noticed, letting his fingers dig into skin for that little bit more added distraction.
But, he couldn’t resist the pulling in his mind, the part that that made him think that maybe… Well, maybe, if love wasn’t going to be easy, then it had to be earned. Maybe Phe’d done so many bad things, been such a terrible person, that he couldn’t have it in a snap like Laeli did, like so many other people did. He didn’t deserve holidays, carefree dates, flowers and fun. He didn’t deserve anything, should just be grateful for what he got. That’s what his mind whispered, and he was inclined to agree.
Maybe… Maybe he had to prove that he deserved it. Like it was all a test, one that he was making low score after low score on, had almost failed, but if he just kicked it up a notch, got his act together, then maybe it would all fall into place. Maybe he would wake up one day, and love wouldn’t be this obscure idea. It wouldn’t make him picture empty marriages and drunken whispers that were forgotten by the morning. It wouldn’t make his chest tighten to the point of being unable to breathe just from the panic of storybook endings that he didn’t fit into, of not understanding something that everyone else knew as a second nature. Maybe it would just click into place, and he’d think of love and feel something. Something good, light and airy. Something like what he imagined went along with the looks he saw people in love giving each other.
…Or maybe he was just an alcoholic with no bottle, trying to come up with the excuses that were second nature by now.
Didn’t excuse Niku’s misery, after all. What had he done to deserve having to go through Phe’s trial-and-error process? And how the hell was someone who felt like he did, like he deserved nothing, supposed to prove that he deserved something as momentous as being trusted with someone else’s well-being? Phe could feel a dark chuckle completely devoid of humor pushing its way out of a choked-up throat. Fuck if he could be trusted with his own well-being, for that matter.
Letting his head finally make the final slide down to his pillow, he continued to follow raindrops with his eyes as they slid down the glass. Down, down, down. And as he felt the world slowly dimming, felt himself slowly drifting off into an uneasy unconsciousness, he couldn’t help the hope that all of those maybes might someday become realities. Because, really, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if they didn’t.
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Post by Hawk on Jul 4, 2010 23:41:14 GMT -6
Song: Kiss from a Rose Artist: Seal
The first rose had been a gift of impulse.
“It reminds me of you on that first night,” Belial had said when she’d protested the cost.
“I don’t recall being near this prickly. Or green.”
He’d just laughed and stepped around behind her, letting his arms slip around her waist and pull her closer. “How astute of you, to pick out the most unfitting of inferences.” Reaching around, he clasped the hand holding the rose in his own, and pulled it closer for both their inspections. “Beautifully soft, but still with strength enough to hold its own. And covered in the purest white, almost light itself.” Leaning his head down next to hers, he glanced over, a grin of mixed amusement and affection dancing on his lips. “Are the connections becoming clearer to you now, or shall I continue to innumerate them?”
She gave an amused huff, and then turned and closed the almost nonexistent space for a kiss, one that was short, but spoke her thanks much more effectively than words ever could.
“Though, if I recall correctly, you did throw a few barbs at me about not being forward enough,” he teased, reaching out to brush a finger against a thorn. “Your own version of these, perhaps?”
A rose smacking against his head was all he got in return. That, and a contagious sort of laughter that they shared just as willingly as they shared their affection.
~~~
The second time he was hit with a white rose, it was much less threatening, albeit done with a fair bit more annoyance.
"Belial..." Her tone alone was enough to have him raising his hands in surrender, trying not to laugh all the while.
"Yes?" he said, voice imbued with as much innocence as one such as himself could muster.
She just looked at him pointedly, corsage hanging from the fingers of her right hand. "Belial, honey, tell me what I have in my hand right now is not a corsage of white roses."
"You do not have a artfully crafted corsage of the most perfect white roses in your hand right now. Or, you wouldn't, if you'd allow me to attach it to your wrist, where it belongs."
"Belial!" she said again, and he was almost positive he could see the beginnings of a grin starting to fight its way through her annoyed frown. "A corsage, a sizable corsage, all in white - which is the color reserved for brides, need I remind you - is entirely not appropriate for a bridesmaid!"
"Well, to be fair, the dresses Hannah forced upon her closest friends aren't exactly appropriate for bridesmaids, either," he replied matter-of-factly, if not amusedly. Reaching a hand out, he took hold her own hand - the one not clutching the flowers in question - and guided her in a slow twirl. As she came around to face him once again, he slipped his hands down to rest against her waist, and made a show of grimacing in an obviously over-exaggerated manner as he looked down at her dress. "Or any women, for that matter, but I don't hear you complaining about-"
He was silenced by a quick peck on the lips. "Promise me you won't speak one more word about the dresses, especially within earshot of Hannah, and you win on the flowers. Lest I be forced to punish you, as per my position as Maid of Honor - or, more accurately, slave to the bride-to-be's happiness." Much as she sounded stern, it wasn't lost on Belial that a grin had finally broken across her face.
"Cross my heart," he said sincerely, releasing his hold on her so he could gently free the flowers from her grasp. With a few quick pulls, the ribbon was artfully tied around her wrist. Then he raised the hand in question to his lips quickly, a long-running affectionate quirk he'd had with Anna since the day they met.
And when he opened his mouth to speak again, she knew enough to raise the same hand to his lips, stemming whatever smart comment he would likely have added on her dress as she said with humor in her tone, "For God's sake, love, do me a favor and shut up."[/color
~~~
[[More'll prolly go here someday. As soon as I can make the rest...fit as well as the beginning does.]]
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Post by Hawk on Jul 9, 2010 1:14:52 GMT -6
[[Not actually a music prompt! :o But I don't have anywhere else appropriate to throw long, one-shot, fanfic-esque things, so I shall pretend it fits here. Besides, this is my thread! I DO WHAT I WANT. Especially when it involves adding a dollop of fluff to all the overflowing angst. x3]]
[[Edit: I realized context would prolly be useful in this case. Anyway, Mortal Instruments fanfic of sorts. It's a wonderful trilogy by Cassandra Clare, so check it out if you have the time! Lots of Magnus/Alec relationship stuff is left to the imagination in the books, so I figured I'd fill in at least one blank how I imagine it could've gone!]]
“You know, when I said to call me, this wasn’t the reason I had in mind.”
It definitely wasn’t the first thing Alec was expecting to hear after he’d battled his way out of the darkness that pain had mercifully thrown him into. Trying to regain and keep consciousness was enough work as it was, even without trying to work out what the cryptic phrase meant. A breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding slipped out of him, staggered and obnoxiously noisy in the otherwise silent room.
Silent, but not empty. Someone had spoken the phrase, a man from the timbre. It had none of Hodge’s tired scolding – something that was sure to be present whenever one of the Lightwoods did something dumb and was hurt as a result. Didn’t have the lyrical quality which graced everything that slipped through Jace’s lips either, the one which made Alec hang off his every word. But, still, something about that voice nudged at the edge of his memory, so familiar… “Where…?”
A quiet sound was the response, caught somewhere between a sigh and a cut-off chuckle. “The infirmary. Your own, might I add.”
Forcing heavy eyes open, Alec looked to confirm this for himself first, and was immediately met with sights that proved it to be true. The lights were dim, whether for his benefit or some other reason he wasn’t sure, but he could easily see a familiar bed sitting across from him that was just like the one he was laying on, with sheets he’d folded down himself just a day ago. Double doors were shut tightly, but he could make out the slight indent in the wood from where Jace had punched one in frustration while they were waiting for Hodge to heal a particularly nasty gash a demon had dealt to Isabelle a couple months back. Not to mention that horrendous ceiling, painted in a fit of whimsy by his parents when they were younger. Hell, he could still smell the salve that had been put on Jace’s wounds just a couple days before. He was safe, and he was home. And, most importantly, he was alive.
It was only when he’d examined every other part of the room, only then did he let his eyes slide over as slowly as possible to take in the man sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘Not a man,’ he amended as his eyes raked over the perfectly crafted spikes of hair, the delicate features accented by a touch of glitter. He would have seemed Fey if not for the almost-luminescent eyes, cut by slit pupils and made all the more prominent by rings of eyeliner and kohl. He was wrapped in a shirt of what could only be velvet, decorated with the odd silver stud here and there and in a blue so dark it could almost pass as black, so tight that it looked like a second skin. All he could make out of the pants was a trace of gray leather, but he could only assume they’d be just as form-fitting.
There was no mistaking Magnus Bane for anyone but himself with looks like that, that was for sure. He’d matched the mystery voice to the High Warlock during his scan of the room, and part of him had hoped he’d been wrong. Mainly because another part of him had hoped that he wasn’t wrong. And that was a part of himself he definitely didn’t have the energy to deal with.
Catching the boy’s wandering gaze with his own, Magnus let his lips twitch upwards in the smallest of grins. “Much as I’m sure I’m quite the sight to behold, are you done pretending to scan the room as per your Shadowhunter upbringing?” Alec could feel his traitorous cheeks start to heat at the insinuation. “Because removing the poison of a Greater Demon is tricky business, even for me. Your body’s still a veritable wreck.” Hands shifted from his lap as he spoke, moving towards Alec’s chest.
Alec knew that the move had to be purely medicinal, but he couldn’t help the feeling of panic that ate at the edges of his thoughts. Of course the warlock had to touch him to heal him, he thought, trying to talk himself down. He’d probably been doing exactly that before Alec had woken up. Maybe only stopped to be polite, which was a good sign, wasn’t it? But he couldn’t help the quick intake of a rattling breath as the hands drew closer. Instantly irritated with his panicked reaction, he intentionally relaxed back into the pillows.
Opting to turn his face away from Magnus and fix it on a particularly uninteresting point in the wall, he said, “You sound different.” It was the truth; at the party, he’d been overly-loud and his voice had a tone that made each word seem like a private joke that only the warlock was privy to. Now, he spoke at a reasonable volume, almost overly quiet, and though amusement still colored his voice, it was an inclusive one. It was the voice you used when you were sharing a joke with a close friend that only they would understand. It would have made him feel comforted, if the situation wasn’t so odd.
“And you look different,” was all he got in return, along with a couple quiet chuckles. The hands he’d been expecting to feel on his injured chest stopped just inches above the skin, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Magnus look up from the wound and at his face for a moment. He was tempted to look up, just to study the expression on his face. But then it was too late, and he’d turned his face back downwards. Soon after, a flickering blue light that was shot through with red lit the room, accompanied by more teasing words. “Not an improvement, either. Though the loss of the shirt would be rather nice, in other circumstances.”
The compliment may have made the flush rise on Alec’s cheeks once again, but it also made him frown. Was he really so transparent? Years of hiding his sexuality from his family, his friends, everybody – and now, after one short interaction, this… flamboyant nit not only had read him like an open book, but also thought it was okay to go around throwing intimations left and right? He could feel his expression hardening into a glare as he continued to stare at the one point in the wall, as if with a look he could burn his way through it. He knew how childish it sounded, but it just wasn’t fair.
He was startled out of his musings by a hand lightly coming to rest on the skin just beside the gash in his chest. It wasn’t anything but chaste, only touching him enough to draw attention. But Alec was hyperaware of each fingertip and their placement, and could feel his muscles tense at the touch. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve done this a million times before.” Magnus had obviously misread the reason for his withdrawn reactions, thinking it was anxiousness. But, instead of reassuring him, the words only served to annoy him more.
“I bet you have.” The scathing whisper was out of Alec’s lips before he’d had the time to think it through. He knew Magnus had been talking about healing, but the duality of the words hadn’t been lost on Alec.
And obviously it wasn’t lost on Magnus either, since he withdrew his hand as quick as if he’d been burned. A few moments passed, and then the blue-and-red glow returned to the room once again. But there wasn’t a spoken word, no outward response.
Alec hadn’t known what he’d been hoping to achieve with the biting comment, but as the warlock’s silence stretched on, minute after minute, he knew that it wasn’t this. In the short time he’d spent with the other, it had become obvious that silence was anything but synonymous with Magnus. He was all about noise, and glamour and attention. It made the current lack of sound unbearable, made Alec feel instantly guilty for his frustrated words. “Look, I’m sorry.”
Turning his head back to look at Magnus, he was met with a face devoid of expression, simply staring down at the wound he was working on. Alec’s wound – one that could have easily killed him. If he’d felt guilty moments ago, he felt infinitely more guilty now. Tracing the path of Magnus’s gaze down to his own wound, Alec watched the small bolts of energy pour out of Magnus and slip silently into his own skin. His lips opened and closed a couple times in vain as he tried to find the words he wanted to say. “Ma– High Warlock Bane, I’m grateful, really. It’s just…”
It felt odd using such a formal title, and obviously had been the wrong thing to do if the deepening frown on Magnus’s face was any sign. “‘High Warlock Bane,’ hm?” was all he said, but Alec could tell the warlock was closing off, could practically see walls slamming up around him and closing Alec out, as if they were physical barriers. It reminded Alec of when the warlock had spoken about his parents – same detached voice, and same posture, so stiff that it almost seemed he was made out of wax. The only thing that was different was his expression, which had been filled with anger when he was addressing Clary, but now just seemed withdrawn and tired.
“Magnus, please.” He made a point to emphasize the name, even though it felt just as odd to use it as it had to use the title. “I just wanted you to know it’s… it’s difficult. For me to be speaking to you like this, I mean.”
The blue-and-red light flickered out once again, and Alec watched with a sense of something akin to regret as Magnus withdrew his hands to the side of the bed, resting them on the edge of the mattress. “Like what? Like two adults?” Though a grin had risen once again on Magnus’s face, the expression left a bitter taste in Alec’s mouth. His tone became mocking as he continued on, “Or do you mean as a child of the brave Nephilim, and as a child of some terrible demon? Because if speaking to me would sully your pure-and-good reputation, I can surely expend my energy on you silently.”
Alec couldn’t keep the shock from his expression. Was that what he thought? That Alec was shutting him down because of some sort of messed-up racial bias? “…That wasn’t what I meant at all. Didn’t even occur to me.” Even though Magnus still wasn’t looking at him, he raised an eyebrow, as if in doubt. Though every part of him had been dreading contact with the warlock only minutes ago, he found his hand shaking itself free of its blanket confines and shifting to rest on one of Magnus’s. Only for a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime to Alec. “I swear on the Angel.”
“A Shadowhunter’s oath isn’t something to take lightly, or so I’ve been lead to believe. Even one as informal as that.” After a quick flex of the hand he had touched, one that had Alec flexing his own in a rather more embarrassed way, Magnus had returned to his healing work once again. Alec hoped that was a good sign.
“I’ve only sworn that I was being honest.”
“Then, since we’re being honest, you wouldn’t mind telling me what precisely it is that I’ve done to earn your scorn,” he said, eyes finally rising to pin Alec with their otherworldly gaze.
“It’s…complicated.” He could have left it there, but something made him want to go on. He couldn’t help feeing Magnus might be the only one that could understand. “When we were at your apartment, you talked about…” He paused to take a breath and to curb the feeling that he would choke on his words if he continued to speak them before continuing. “Well, you talked about being different. About how it wasn’t as great as people thought it could be.” Alec could feel his voice slowly slipping into lower and lower volumes as he went on. “I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid of what -I- am, because it makes me different. And you remind me of that.”
Magnus looked at him then, his face caught in some cryptic expression that Alec couldn’t even begin to decode. “You’re speaking of your Shadowhunter blood.” Though it was spoken like a statement, Alec could feel the silent questions burning just underneath.
“Why would I have anything to fear from that?”
He could almost feel the smirk pulling at Magnus’ lips firmly downturned lips as he stared at Alec rather incredulously for a moment, and then glanced down towards his chest as if to say, ‘Duh’ without muttering the word.
Embarrassment colored his cheeks as he forced out, “Okay, point taken. But no, not what I was talking about.”
“Well, that seems just silly.” He arched one hand over the other, shifting it up to a higher point on Alec’s chest, just below his neck. “If the idea of death doesn’t scare you,” he finally said, face neutral as he borrowed Alec’s own words and turned them on him, “why would you have anything to fear from anything else?”
It might have been an appropriate question, but it wasn’t what Alec was waiting to hear. He couldn’t help but sink deeper into the bed, shrinking away from the lack of unspoken understanding where he’d hoped to finally find some, from the only person who he’d hoped could maybe sympathize, maybe, just maybe… But, it didn’t matter now, he thought, turning his gaze back its former place on the wall to hide the disappointment sure to be apparent on his face. And really, in thinking about it… “Of course you wouldn’t understand.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking in the first place, expecting sympathy from a man who…who dressed in every color of the rainbow, who threw out pick-up lines in front of everyone like they were nothing, who was coated in more make-up than almost any woman he’d ever seen. As the colored flickering faded from the wall, all Alec could think was even his magic was all bright colors, pulling eyes towards its brightness. How could a warlock like that – who thrived on being the center of attention – ever understand him, with his black clothes and his tempered personality and his fear that if anyone, anyone, found out about him, they would–
And then his panic faded to incredulity as a face cut into his view, and suddenly lips were on his. They were hardly a touch to start, soft and barely brushing his own, and Alec froze, eyes closing in some kind of denial as his chest tightened in an automatic panic reaction. But, Magnus didn’t pull away. The kiss – because that’s what he realized it was, Magnus was kissing him – slowly became more insistent, lips pushing against his, searching for some kind of reaction. Alec could feel himself begin to heat at the motion, breathing quickening even as he kept absolutely still. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – respond, his practiced concealment screaming at him to get out of this situation, that he was in a place where anyone could come in – where Jace could come in. It filled his mind with the feeling that this was much, much too dangerous.
But there was a part of him that couldn’t – wouldn’t – push Magnus away either. It whispered to him, ‘Do you really want to stop?’ Alec may have adored Jace – loved him, Clary had said, and it was probably true – but this level of physicality, the feeling of mutual attraction… Alec knew, even though the thought of it fractured his heart more every time, that he would never have that with Jace. Clary made that apparent, with her feminine curves and damsel-in-distress need that made Jace throw himself head-first into hero mode. The way he’d looked at her after just a few days together… Alec had never gotten that look from him. Never.
But this… this warmth rising up and filling his chest, making his limbs tingle, making him feel both lighter than air and hyperaware… ‘Don’t you want more? More than unrequited affections?’ it whispered, ‘…More of this?’ He found himself caught in hiatus, powerless to choose a side in the mental battle.
Almost as if sensing Alec’s fragile hold, Magnus nipped on his bottom lip, just enough to get him to gasp, and then a tongue was caressing his own, and lips were pressing down on his hard enough that his head was being driven into the pillow behind him. The heat was spreading all the way to his fingertips, every nerve ending feeling like it was on fire, and he wanted… Panic was trying to slam down on his musings, on the idea of doing anything but staying still, but it was too late. As he felt a hand slide against his cheek, cupping his chin, all he could think was he wanted more.
Then, before Alec even noticed it, he was kissing back. The panic was still there in his chest, but it had been driven back by, by… By the Angel, it felt good to not think about anything and simply be himself for just one minute, he couldn’t help but absently think as he pushed back. He rose off the pillow a good few inches as Magnus gave him some give, let him take control for a few clumsy but pleasurable seconds. Then he took it back, but with less force and heat than before, winding them down slowly, comfortably, until after a couple more breathless minutes he pulled back, exhales mingling in the few inches between them.
Before he’d thought to think about what to say, words were slipping out of Alec’s lips. “That was…”
“Yes?” Some small part of Alec that wasn’t busy being either panicked or stunned was pleased to see that the warlock looked fairly surprised himself.
And the responses he could give… Thoughts about his answer were rebounding all over his head, the first being ‘wonderful’ and ‘something I’d like to do again’, which were tempered by the defense mechanisms which demanded he recoil, and tossed out ideas like ‘not what I wanted’ or a painfully dishonest ‘disgusting’. Unable to make peace with either, he hedged out a breathless, “…not what I expected.”
If Alec had any fears about Magnus being offended again, they were quickly doused when he simply let out a couple quiet, breathy laughs. Alec could feel them on his lips, could practically taste Magnus on each one. He found himself subconsciously leaning forward, even as the warlock murmured, “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Eyes slid across his face, almost as if searching for something, and then the grin on his lips widened. “Or at least as much of one as you’re capable of giving.”
Alec felt something shift against his chest, realized that one of Magnus’ hands was propped against it, and he could feel his muscles tighten pleasantly in response. And, for a couple moments, he had almost convinced himself that maybe he was okay with staying that way, that just maybe he could lean forward the couple inches and kiss Magnus again, and that maybe Jace… Well, Jace wasn’t here now, so just maybe… But then the pleasant tightening started to turn into a dull ache, and then into a stinging pain…
‘Abbadon’s poison,’ he remembered, and with a start, Alec realized that in light of everything that had happened in the last couple minutes, he’d forgotten entirely about why they were in this situation in the first place. Aghast at his utter lack of self-preservation – among other things – he forced the no-nonsense, Shadowhunter part of himself to the forefront. “It was…” ‘amazing, wonderful, distracting as all get-out’ “…nice. But I’m wounded, Magnus. You need to get off of me,” he said, using a tone that he hoped sounded infinitely more sure and commanding than he felt.
“Well, I would,” the other responded, cat eyes filled with amusement as he leaned forward to whisper, “but your hands seem to be in the way.”
And so they were, he realized, the fingers of both clutching to the fabric of the warlock’s shirt. The second he pointed it out, Alec couldn’t release his hold on the velvet cloth fast enough, already feeling the flush rising on his cheeks. “S-sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be.” The inclusive, friendly tone was back, but it carried with it a weight of suggestiveness that made Alec color as the warlock shifted back slowly. And he couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like the hand on his chest lingered just a second longer than it had to before slipping off and back onto the covers.
The silence stretched on once the warlock returned to his former spot on the bed, and he’d spent several seconds just grinning down at Alec before the Shadowhunter finally gained the nerve to say, “So…about that poison…”
“Oh, I finished healing you a few minutes ago, or at least as much as necessary. Didn’t you notice?” And, as Alec stared back incredulously into feline eyes twinkling with amusement, he did indeed notice. No more rattling breaths, no more pain now that there was no pressure on his chest. His expression must’ve given away how much of an idiot he felt like for not noticing it until it was pointed out to him, because Magnus took pity on him and added, “I’ve been at it for hours while you slept. Your surface wounds will have to heal naturally, so you’ll get a cast on that lovely leg of yours and be a little tender around the chest, but any trace of the poison is entirely gone, or I’m not the Magnus Bane.”
“Oh, you’re definitely Magnus Bane,” he couldn’t help but respond. It pulled another set of amused chuckles from him, and Alec could feel a grin itching at his own lips in response.
“That I most certainly am,” he agreed, and then after a couple pats to Alec’s good leg that must’ve been meant comfortingly, but had Alec blushing all over again, he rose off the bed. Wincing the shifting of muscles that must’ve been stiff from leaning over the bed for so long, the warlock locked his fingers together and raised his hands in an impromptu stretch. One that made his shirt ride up just enough to show off a small strip of his tanned, flat stomach, not that Alec was watching or anything…
With his eyes diverted as they were after the little show, Alec heard the jangle of keys knocking against each other rather than seeing them, and looked over just as Magnus pulled a set from a back pocket that Alec could have sworn was empty a second ago. Unclipping the ring that held them together, the warlock extracted one particular key, thin and with a sterling silver shine when it caught the light. He flipped it over a couple times in his fingers, almost as if in thought, and just when Alec was about to ask what the heck was going on, Magnus’ gaze flit his way, and a grin pulled at his lips again as took a step towards the head of the bed. He leaned down, eyes searching all the while, until he was as close as they’d been before, after he’d… Well, very close. Alec stopped breathing, resolved not to act afraid. But, even as he thought it, he could feel himself sinking deeper into the pillow under him, yearning for the safety of distance just as much as he yearned for…the other option.
The reaction didn’t seem to bother Magnus. Far from it, he seemed to have found what he was looking for, since his expression cleared, and he even added in an appreciative murmur, “Your family has the prettiest eyes, you know. I’m so pleased you inherited them.” Then with a muttered apology that Alec was pretty sure he didn’t really mean, he returned to a respectable distance and slipped the key onto the bedside table. “Hold onto this for me, would you, Alexander?”
“…What is it?”
Magnus remained silent for a moment, giving a look that Alec assumed was considering. “I have the distinct feeling that if I tell you, you’ll take it the wrong way.”
“Well, if you don’t, I’ll just take your silence any number of wrong ways, so you might as well just tell me.” Alec thanked the Angel that his good sense had finally returned to him, along with at least a partial attempt at a level tone of voice. He didn’t fail to notice that Magnus’s proximity seemed to have a direct effect on that, much as it bemused him.
“You make a very good point,” he conceded, and then his grin took on a peculiar nature as he continued, “It’s the key to my apartment.” Alec had already started to sit up and opened his mouth to argue when Magnus cut him off by continuing, “And before you strain yourself with trying to come up with a polite way to deny it, give me a minute to explain.”
Much to Alec’s chagrin, he stood there silent until Alec forced his mouth shut, and waited until Alec had fully lain back down before continuing.
“I won’t deny that I’m attracted to you. It would be just silly to try. But that’s not the reason I’m giving you that – or at least not the main reason,” he amended with a little wink. Then he paused a moment, and his expression lost some of its overriding snarkiness. It was replaced by a kind of softness, one that reminded Alec, oddly enough, of their kiss. The expression was almost stripped down – raw, somehow – and Alec stilled, surprised to see something of his own nervousness in the age-old being. He nodded silently, urging Magnus to continue, and was rewarded with a small grin before he continued on. “I’m giving you that because I think, in the end, we’re both looking for the same thing. And it’s something I think we can both offer each other.” Gaze shifting down to the key, almost as if the level of personal connection had become too much even for the warlock, he concluded, “Someone who understands.”
Alec couldn’t contain a little gasp at the phrase, one that practically mirrored his own earlier sentiments. Embarrassed at his reaction, he covered by forcing a couple coughs, and by the time he looked back up, the warlock was back to his usual self, all smirks and bright eyes and lax poses. It made Alec wonder how much of Magnus’s behavior was for show, if it was maybe just to keep his long life interesting.
“Use it, don’t, makes little difference to me.” Alec had a feeling the nonchalant tone was forced, but wasn’t about to call Magnus out on it. “But if you ever need a sympathetic ear, someone to talk to…” He was pretty sure the trailing off was purposeful, that the couple seconds of silence were made to be teasingly suggestive. “…Anything like that, you know where to find me.”
Alec was sure his cheeks would never settle to their natural color again with all the blushing he was doing, but he managed a final protest. “You know, I do have a cell phone…”
“Oh, I do know.” Lifting said phone from its own place on the bedside table, he tossed it to Alec. Shadowhunter reflexes had his hand shooting out to catch it, and in that second it vibrated twice, a sign that he’d received a text message. The little window on the front of his phone read ‘Magnus’ under the picture of an unopened envelope, and when Alec looked up at him accusingly, he just shrugged. “What can I say, healing you for hours was boring. And you don’t put a lock on your cell.” Far from withering at Alec’s attempt at a glare, he instead just looked down at his nails in a decidedly feminine way. “Saving you the time of adding me as a ‘Favorite Contact’ was practically a service. I couldn’t help but do it for you. And, as that text will tell you, I have an unlimited text and minutes plan, thanks to the myriad businessmen who would never notice the skimming of a few unused minutes or messages off the top of their monthly bills, so feel free to contact me at any time.”
Feeling like his point had been made for him, Alec raised a hand and began to push the key towards Magnus. “I don’t really need this, the-”
Reaching down, Magnus placed a hand over Alec’s, cutting off his speech as he pushed both the key and the hand back towards Alec’s side of the table. “Hold onto it. Just in case.” He’d used the more sincere tone again, and kept his hand over Alec’s, only removing it when he’d closed his own hand around the key.
Counting it as a lost cause to continue trying to fight against a warlock that had centuries on him, Alec just let out a resigned sigh and pulled the key to himself while Magnus looked on. Much as he’d never admit it, the key in his hand infused him with a kind of subdued excitement. Not at actually using it, because that was an entirely new level of horrifying, but the feeling persisted nonetheless. Realizing a major flaw with the idea however, he paused and directed a skeptical look at the warlock. “If I have your key, how’re you going to get in?”
Magnus just grinned. “Alec, darling, I’m the High Warlock of Brooklyn. I don’t need keys.” Then, with a wink and a blown kiss that had Alec blushing all over again, he said goodbye and was out of the door.
And, minutes later, he was thanking the Angel for – of all things – being poisoned. Because he didn’t know how he’d have explained his permanently red face to Isabelle if he couldn’t use demon-induced fever as an excuse.
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Post by Hawk on Aug 28, 2010 13:34:15 GMT -6
[]
Songs and Artists: 'Pitter-Pat' by Erin McCarley and 'Saint Anthony' by Senses Fail
Mia just couldn't adjust to the silence.
She'd had two days of Belial walking around, filling her apartment with his forced lightheartedness and that damned grin of his that just wouldn't slip, talking up a storm about meaningless shit while really saying absolutely nothing at all. It was a never-ending thing this time around, like he'd pulled on the innocent-Belial mask too tightly, and just couldn't seem to remember to take it off now that he was able to.
But, as was inevitable with him, he'd fallen asleep an hour ago, face down on that hideous brown couch of hers. And she'd been much chagrined when she realized that the lack of his idle chatter left her feeling like something was off. She'd flit from room to room, and then back to room again, unable to settle into one place, but also unable to conjure up the mood to go out once again. At least, not alone.
So, instead, she'd settled on drinks. A nightcap to start. A drink carried to her room.
That had been over an hour ago, and one nightcap had turned to three had turned to five. Running as hot as she did made it so difficult to get a buzz going after all, she thought with no small appreciation of the double entendre. As a seemingly delicate hand wrapped around the neck of the Absolut bottle for number six, she couldn't help the sharp grin that rose the corner of her lip. Humans were right about idle hands being the devil's tools, apparently. Though, really, in the realm of demonic, her choice seemed pretty tame.
Not that Captain Killjoy, Bellsie of the limited liquor, would approve. Following the path of her thoughts, she looked over at the man in question, and couldn't help but pause, bottle rolling against the counter and between her fingers as she took in his still form.
He looked just the same as before. His feet were still encased in shoes and buried under the cushions at the end of the couch. His body was arranged in the same way it always was when he was sleeping, all limbs tight to himself, like he was trying to minimize the space he took up. His arms were wrapped around the pillow that his head was buried in, face hidden by the dark sea of his hair. And there was the same certain stiffness to his slim but sculpted back, and an irregularity to his breathing that had always made him seem never quite at rest, never quite peaceful.
That was one of the oft-regrettable things that had probably formed her soft spot for the foolish man: the way he had of looking so fragile while he slept. Almost childish, which should have been an odd look on someone his age, but managed to fit him perfectly.
Mia could feel the biting expression she wore as her own mask softening already, something that the sleeping man alone could bring out in her. Yes, he definitely wouldn't approve, she thought, and felt she'd gained a sort of minor victory as she tilted the bottle up, pouring a couple inches of clear liquid into her glass. Then, setting the source of her pastime down, she lifted up the shot - more of a double shot, really - and gave it a cursory type of inspection, just as she would with a casual fuck, before tossing it down her throat in one burning go. That was how shots were supposed to be taken: straight back, with no time to process the alcohol before it hit you.
A belief she tabled at bars, mind, because attractive women didn't pound shots. Belial'd asked about that earlier in the night, one of his myriad questions to attempt to distract her from the fact that he hadn't so much as strayed from the table since they'd gotten there. He was going to run himself into the ground someday, she thought as a frown marred her formerly contented countenance. All work, and no play literally made Bellsie a much more dull boy, after all. Unhealthily so...-
'...Have you ever thought about death, Mia?'
That particular memory of earlier that night came unbidden, of cigarette smoke winding between them and the words that were whispered into the silence as the smoke continued to curl. Of Belial's eyes, dark as midnight from the low light and the liquor, and filmed by the memories, by the weight of the world and the weight of nothing at all. He'd had his own couple shots by then, an attempt to appease her. She'd thought they would loosen him up. And they'd worked, he'd loosened alright. Loosened too much.
Just the ghost of the thought of it alone was enough to make her breath catch. Her hand, she realized, was turning white from how tightly she was clutching her glass.
'Ever thought about dying?'
The question had been murmured, a tipsy slip, said almost quiet enough that it was as if he was asking the question of himself. And, much as he'd covered it with a couple chuckles and a joke a few seconds later, she couldn't shake what she'd seen in him for those few moments. Couldn't shake his expression, half-blank, with the corners of his grin turning down, as if rebelling against its existence. Couldn't unhear his voice, thick with thoughts and emotions where it was usually so light and airy.
The Belial who'd spoken those words clashed with the Belial that lay before her now, looking so young and innocent. She wondered if this was how far his mastery of masks had gotten him, to the point where even in sleep he faked something more simple than what he was. Because there was nothing childish about the Belial she'd glimpsed earlier, not at all, she thought as a 'kch' sound pushed itself through lips turned down in disdain.
Slamming her glass down with rather more force than necessary, her eyes immediately darted up when the man in question shifted, an arm tightening on the pillow under him before settling back down. She resisted the urge to send the glass flying with a sweeping motion, to startle him awake with the scream of breaking glass. But, much as the shattering of glass against a nearby surface would please her, she was centuries above childish tantrums.
No, she wouldn't stoop to that, not tonight. Save the impending fight for tomorrow, she thought as she lifted the bottle to pour another shot - triple, this time. And save the snapping-point energy for when he was actually awake to take the brunt of it, like he deserved, not in some sort of half-startled, uncomprehending state. A bitter expression that almost resembled a smirk rose on her face at the thought, because that was really the only way they communicated at this point. Bellsie in subtle nuances that she never could quite grasp, and her in cutting nettles, words that bit into him and sunk in. She hoped to god they sunk in, because otherwise...
Pounding the drink back, she wrapped slim digits around the bottle, and dragged it off the counter. Gave Belial one more indecipherable look before turning to return to her bedroom. And as her bare feet padded their way down the hall, she couldn't keep her mind from swirling with images - of blue eyes struggling to stay open, stuttered words spoken with a brevity that was almost eerie, breaths struggled for instead of easily gained - and how commonplace they'd become in her life . And, layered above it all, a yearning of the soul she hadn't felt in Belial in years, exuded along with a couple of breathy almost-confessions.
Lucifer help them both, because God certainly wasn't going to.
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Post by Hawk on May 31, 2011 1:19:14 GMT -6
[[Goddammit, these songs are so these two. And just generally goddammit.]]
Song: Love the Way You Lie pts. 1 & 2 Artist: Eminem and Rihanna
The bottle - prone at her side just moments before - was up and flying from her hand. He winced, eyes shutting defensively even as it smashed into the wall just inches above his head. He could feel the shards of glass raining down on him even as she screamed in a voice that mirrored the shattered glass, "You cannot simply charm your way out of bullets, Belial!" He hazarded cracking an eye open, and was met with a pure inferno blazing in the eyes of the woman looking back at him. As bright as the fires of Hell, he imagined.
Or hoped he imagined.
Unsure as to whether moving would upset her more, he stayed in place. Stood his ground, he'd like to think, but it wasn't strength of intentions that kept him in place. He'd like to think it wasn't fear either, but one could never tell with the two of them. "Maybe not." The words had come out uneven, voice breaking on the last syllable. Nothing like what he'd intended. Speaking of joining a second World War, one that threatened to make a mockery of the War to End All Wars, and he sounded the very definition of a coward. He cleared his throat, made it a point to speak with the conviction he felt about the issue itself - if not in the face of the woman standing in front of him - as he tried for a second time. "Maybe not. But, Mia, we could survive through that which could kill another-"
"'We'?" she repeated. The volume of her voice had lowered, but her tone was like the edge of a razorblade. He could feel every word cutting into him with high-pitched precision as she went on. "Belial, we are not comparable! A shot to my chest, even at my worst, would be but a scratch. But you..."
She took a step toward him, one that looked involuntary. But he could never be sure with her. The line between acts of true emotion and calculated steps towards a goal had blurred decades ago. Centuries, even. Regardless, he broke their staring contest of sorts, unable to continue looking into eyes that felt like they were burning into him, through him. "Belial, I am what my Angel made me. But you are what you make of yourself, which is at best a passable magician, and at worst..." Another step closer, and Belial found he was fighting the urge to cringe back. "Heaven bless me if at worst, you aren't the caricature of a man at death's door! Must you toe the line constantly closer?"
Belial felt his back hit the wall before he'd even registered leaning against it as she took yet another step towards him. "Lamia." It slipped through his lips before he could stop it. She hated hearing her full name, and he knew it. Usually respected her wishes. So why had he used it now? A call for attention? Some sort of minor revenge for her cruel words, or perhaps an entreaty that she stop? Not even he was sure. Regardless, she seemed to have been startled into freezing a couple steps away from him for the moment, so he racked his mind for the logic that had seemed so straightforward before he'd entered the room. "Mia, I could withstand what would kill another soldier - a soldier that is someone's son, perhaps someone's lover or husband..."
"It isn't your place to save every human hell bent on wasting their life in honor of an intangible idea!" Her advance had stopped, but still she leaned ever closer, the words falling from her lips flavored with venom that tasted of disapproval, of scorn and frustration. "Freedom, peace, equality..." She reached a hand down to swipe up a pamphlet he'd set on the coffee table on the way in, waving it in front of his face, boldfaced type blaring proudly, 'Deliver us from Evil' "Even 'evil!. The humans behave as if these- these pipedreams are achievable goals. If they want to pretend that these vague ideals can be bought with enough lives, more power to them for being foolish enough to believe that. And if they think that 'evil' wears a face and can be brought down with enough guns, or drowned out with enough spilled blood, so be it. But," she paused, balling the piece of paper up in her hand, "I will not have them suckering you into this same foolishness!"
"Mia--"
"People die, Belial!" The words reached a new pitch, more shriek than speech. Her hands were both fisted at her sides, and he could feel the lust for violence, the air of rage and other roiling dark emotions rolling off her in waves. "They're born, they live their lives, and they die. So it has been, and so it will always be."
"But not me," he said. It was meant as a defense, but rang melancholy.
"Yes, not you! You aren't human! Humans die, you live on, such is the way of life! I'm well-versed in it, trust me. And I'm afraid if you don't accept the goddamn truth of those words..."
He waited for her to go on, but she seemed to have run out of steam, tension leaking from her shoulders, fists loosening until her hands rested flat at her sides. And, though he'd been frightened of her touch for some inexplicable reason just moments before, he now found himself lifting a hand, reaching it out towards her. Just as quickly felt her slam down a mental barrier, cutting him off as effectively as slapping away his hand would've. Opposite sides of the same coin, they were. "...Mia?"
He had to strain to hear the words, they were so painfully quiet in comparison to her former assault. "...The human's Savior made sacrifices for his people. And you know what he earned for all his effort?"
He had no response to that, and so opted to act as if he hadn't heard. "I'm sorry, but I'll be going in to the recruiting station tomorrow, with your blessing or without." Risking the step forward, he reached out his hand again, this time actually connecting with her shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Can't very well abandon my home country, after all - once we push the Japs back, that's where we'll be headed next. Better circumstances would've been nice, but it'll be nice to go back nonetheless. Hopefully the Allies don't mind my antiquated French." He felt his lips turning up, grin pushing its way into existence at the almost humorless joke. "And just think of all the lectures you'll be able to send me via letter while I'm away." The grin felt forced and wrong even to him, as if making light of the situation was equivalent to making light of everything about the horrible conflict he was about to enter into, but he couldn't help it. Smoothing over everything, fixing it all with a lightness he didn't feel, that was the only way he knew how to cope.
She just looked up at him, eyes that had lost almost all of their spark searching his face for something, but eventually coming to rest on his crackpot grin. When she finally spoke, it was in a matter-of-fact way, lacking all the fight that she'd come into the discussion with. Cold, factual, unsympathetic. "Martyrs are nothing but fools." He didn't miss the apparent disgust with which she spoke the last word. "And you are, without a doubt, the champion of them all."
Then, without another word, she turned out of his grip and walked down the hall. Slammed the door to her room behind her so hard that he thought he heard some part of the wood inside it crack. Latched the lock into place. And he was left standing, arm still outstretched, appealing to nothing but thin air.
That was 1941.
They didn't speak again until long after treaties were signed half a decade later.
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Post by Hawk on May 31, 2011 1:29:33 GMT -6
Song: Always on Your Side Artist: Sting and Sheryl Crow
As Suzaku was waiting for the moment his world would end, he wasn't thinking of the future. He wasn't thinking about what the new world would bring. Didn't give a damn, to be honest. Wasn't considering the possible flaws in their plan, because Lelouch didn't allow for flaws, least of all from himself. And seeing as this was his magnum opus, mistakes were nigh on impossible. Wasn't thinking about options of escaping his own part to play for that very reason. They were both too tied into the fate they'd woven themselves into to dream of escaping now.
No, what he was thinking about was hide and seek.
Years ago, back before children had to weigh their countries against their families and numbers had become insults, there had been a time when his world was confined to the grounds of his family dojo. When each day passed by in laziness instead of fear. Back when he couldn't recognize the smell of death and didn't see blood every time he closed his eyes.
They would play hide and seek for hours, just the two of them. It was their go-to game when politicians came to visit or officers stopped in to give reports, because of its relatively quiet nature. Sometimes Suzaku would hide. Mostly he played Seeker, because he wasn't near as crafty at finding spots to hide and Lelouch would find him after only a couple minutes. Back then, he would close his eyes and count down from sixty. And it would be bearable, because images like Euphemia's eyes glowing with the power of the Geass or a crater the size of 25 million deaths weren't burned into the backs of his eyelids.
He'd hunt for hours, high and low, sometimes bringing Nunnally along on the hunt, but more often than not running around on his own. Because that had been the most strenuous test of his life in those days: Could he find Lelouch's hiding place?
He would travel the length of the property, and then re-travel it again if he failed the first time. Sometimes, if it took long enough, Lelouch would start to leave him hints. Leave a shoe or a group of picked flowers in a noticeable spot to tell Suzaku he was getting close. He'd smile at the hints, and then look around, wondering if Lelouch could see him. Whether he was smiling with him. Back then, he'd like to think that he was.
Now, he just wondered where hell Lelouch's hints had gone as he'd grown up. Why he hadn't left signs for Suzaku to follow when he'd run and hidden behind the mask of Zero, hadn't hinted the truth to him until it was much too late. He wondered if they'd disappeared because he'd stopped believing in Suzaku at some point, or if perhaps the hints had become more sophisticated and he'd just been too thickskulled to see them.
When they were children, he'd look and look for Lelouch, up until the point where he'd be exhausted. But he'd never have to give up, because if he was ever about to quit, Lelouch would "accidentally" cough or a bit of his white shirt would peek out from its former obscurity, and then Suzaku would be crowing in triumph and running towards his friend, both of them laughing at their successes before starting the whole process all over again.
This time, it wouldn't end in laughter.
And there would be no next time.
He could hear the procession in the distance now, and his hand tightened on the sword hilt in his grip. No, this time there would be no seeking. The long, ugly game that they'd played with the world as their board was long over, it was just that nobody knew it yet. Hide and Seek had been traded along with their innocence, and a convoluted form of chess had taken its place. And now, they'd reached checkmate.
As Suzaku crested the hill of blacktop, began his run towards a victory that felt like anything but, some small part of him wished this was just another game. The White Knight forcing the Black King into checkmate.
Because in chess, after all was said and done, all the pieces returned to the same box.
And Suzaku could think of nothing he wished for as ardently as he did to join Lelouch in his coffin.
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Song: Winner at a Losing Game Artist: Rascal Flatts
He saw her in the snow.
If he closed his eyes, he could picture her spinning until she fell into the snow laughing, wearing the red jacket they'd found for her at a consignment store. It'd had so many pockets, it had made her say with the closest she came to sarcasm, "It'll hold everything I have, and I'll never be able to find any of it when I need it. Perfect." She'd hung it back up, but he could tell she loved it, so he'd walked back the next day and bought it for her.
He saw her in the sunlight. If he caught sight of a beam of it, cutting through leaves in the shadows of the forest, or caught in the air of a dusty room, all he could think of was the way he could pick her out from hundreds in a crowd because of her own particular glow. Like she was the sun that he revolved around.
He saw her in the darkness, just like the night they kissed for the first time, and many times after that. He saw her in the rain, which reminded him of broken umbrellas and dancing through puddles until they couldn't feel their feet and laughter, never-ending laughter. He saw her in the twirl of a dress through dancing halls, heard the memory of her voice resonating through old tunes if he listened close enough.
And he most of all saw her in the spring, because Anna was spring. She was life and newness and vitality, the shock of lightning mixed with the calm of the perfect mid-afternoon breeze.
In truth, he saw her everywhere, in everything.
Which was ironic because, in truth, he would never see her again.
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Temptation was a bitch. That’s what Phe thought as he looked over at the bottle of Merlot sitting innocently on his bookshelf. More glanced at really, quickly and out of the very corner of his eyes. He couldn’t really even see it, but his mind’s eye could, even without the glancing. He’d bought the wine a couple days ago, an accessory to a present, but it had served as nothing but a major distraction so far.
With a frustrated sound, caught somewhere between a sigh and a growl, Pheia turned over and crushed his face into his pillow. ‘Remove the temptation.’ That was one of the first things he’d been told when he’d decided to cut back on his drinking. It was a great bit of advice, but one that he’d generally pissed on by keeping his bartending job. God knows, jobs for people with no high school degree didn’t just fall out of the sky, and he wasn’t about to go broke for some half-assed attempt at something like salvation…
Booze in the apartment was a different story. He’d never been a big at-home drinker, but he’d known that would become his habit when he stopped sneaking shots during bar shifts. So, dry house.
Staying sober wasn’t really even that bad, most of the time. Pheia’d always relied on alcohol as a crutch, his excuse for being an asshole and pushing everyone away. But, see, when you let someone in… Well, it makes you realize how much being alone sucks. And so it was with himself, Phe thought. Every once in a while, though…
Well, he thought, the past has this habit of not fucking off, even when you want it to. Damn ghosts of people he knew, things he’d done, his parents… And it all just got worse at night. In the past, he’d just passed out when he’d downed too many shots. Falling asleep regularly meant so much thinking, reflecting… It made him want that abrupt blacking out so much…
Blindly reaching next to him, he grasped whatever second pillow was closest to him and shoved it on top of his head. Then he pulled the covers over the top of it, to boot. He would not be beaten by some damn beverage. He was through with being the victim, the second-class citizen. The one that everyone pitied. Growing up had been a long time coming, and he wasn’t about to take a step backwards, not in this. It was with that thought, accompanied with ones of the people – the person – he was held accountable to now, that he passed the many long minutes, fighting off one dark thought after another until exhaustion finally dragged him into unconsciousness.
On the shelf, the bottle remained unopened.
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